


Through The Veil

by Dalamanza



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Live, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:56:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalamanza/pseuds/Dalamanza
Summary: In the summer of '95, a freak phenomenon returns to Harry Potter the one thing he has always wanted: his family. This time when he embarks upon his fifth year at Hogwarts, it is with his loving parents at his side and a destiny forever changed. Also posted on fanfic.net.





	1. Return to Godric's Hollow

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on fanfic.net at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12599351/1/Through-The-Veil. Hope you enjoy!

_"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."_

 ***

Two sets of eyes opened, and a long, piercing scream broke the deserted silence of King's Cross station.  A pair of hazel eyes was found by a pair of green and the scream petered out, leaving only the faint gasping of the two figures that had appeared on the floor.

A woman's voice penetrated the still air once more.

"James. . .  Oh, James." Lily Potter whispered, reaching out and drawing her husband to her, neither one noticing, nor caring, that they were naked.  In the misty stillness around them, there was no-one to witness their desperate embrace, their bewildered ecstasy that they were somehow, amazingly, both still alive.

"James,” Lily whispered once more, her voice, muffled though it was by her husband’s embrace, still ringing clear as a bell in the hushed silence around them.  “I heard. . .  I thought you'd died!"

James rubbed comforting circles in the smooth skin of her back.

"Oh Lily," he replied, with equal reverence.  "I’m so sorry; I couldn't hold him. I let you down. I let Harry –"  There was a catch in his breath, and an ache in his voice too strong for Lily to bear.  She shook her head, tears finally spilling over as she leaned in to kiss him, letting him know the only way she knew that he was not to blame.  A tear and a kiss could not, however, dispel the ache that had settled in her own heart, and she let her head drop to his chest in despair.

"Harry," she croaked.  "Harry, my precious boy” – she sniffed, and hid her face further, forehead pressing into his heart – “I couldn't save him James.  I couldn't. . ."  Her moans were interrupted by a sudden movement beneath her as James hastened upright, dislodging her head but keeping his arm firmly around her.

"He's not dead, you hear me?" he demanded authoritatively, conviction betrayed only slightly by the quiver in his voice.  "We're okay, aren't we?  And I, for one, was definitely hit by _Avada_."  He ignored Lily's whimper, pressing on: "And I’m afraid you probably were too, Lils.  If _we_ survived, then there’s no reason why Harry wouldn’t have – it’s not like there’s anything worse that could have happened to him in that house."  He didn’t go on.  As members of the Order of the Phoenix, both Potters knew there were a _lot_ of worse things that could have happened to their son.

James stood up, scrunching his eyes against the brightness as he looked around, and Lily took the opportunity to wipe her eyes and regain her famous Evans composure.  They needed to find out where they were, if they were to get home as soon as possible.  The panic in her eyes was replaced by a steely determination, and she rose to join her husband.

"Alright," James began, seeing Lily beside him.  "First things first, we need some clothes."

No sooner had he spoken than two sets of elegant wizarding robes appeared before them.  Lily reached to pick a pair up, and as her fingers grazed the material she saw the clothes begin shrinking to her size.  She looked over at James expectantly.

"Well," she urged, handing him a pair of his own, "put them on!"

A moment later the two were dressed, and had once again ground to a halt.  They had no idea where they were.

The room in which they stood appeared to be a large, white atrium, that glowed with the pearly light filtering down through the large glass dome above their heads.  The hall was filled with a thick white mist, which gathered at the threshold of their vision and obscured any edge to the room, making it appear infinite.  Lily had a suspicion that, if they walked that way, they might find that it was.  Around the room were scattered a few benches, and at regular intervals across the floor ran what appeared to be long tracks.  Beside her, James gasped in surprise.

"It's a train station!" he exclaimed as platform signs sprung up all around, inventing themselves before their eyes.  Lily felt her own eyes widen in recognition.

"Not just any old train station – James, I think we're at King's Cross!"

As usual, she was right.  The room seemed to build itself around them, and in her mind’s eye Lily saw once again the steaming, scarlet train on Platform Nine and Three quarters, and the jostling bodies fighting for space to board.  She turned, smiling, to her husband, but was met by only a dismayed shaking of his head.

"When in Merlin’s name did it look like this?" he asked, and Lily's smile faltered.

"I don't know", she muttered, "but that's definitely where we are."  James nodded.

"So where do we go now?" Lily wondered aloud, and her husband’s face grew thoughtful.

"How do we get out?" he asked the room at large, and in answer a large signpost materialised in front of them.  Lily wondered briefly whether they were in the room of requirement – first the clothes, and now this – but didn't really believe it.  After all, it wasn’t as though they had called for a train station, and in any case they had been nowhere near Hogwarts.

James, meanwhile, had stepped towards the signpost, and was gazing at it in consternation.  Lily followed his gaze.  There were two signs.  The first pointed to the left, and read  _'Godric's Hollow'_.  The second, pointing to the right, said simply:  _'Onwards'._

"I think we need to board a train," suggested Lily, and no sooner had the words left her mouth than the mist around them began to swirl once more.  On the tracks now stood the large, red, Hogwarts Express of her memories, though admittedly quieter and more deserted than either of them had ever known it.  The door directly in front of them opened, and, clasping each other’s hands, the two Potters stepped up and on board.  James looked at his wife, and saw the familiar determination still singing from her eyes.  She caught his gaze in return and squeezed his hand, taking comfort from the feeling of his on hers.

"I think we need to tell it where to go," he whispered, and she nodded.  Hand still clenched firmly in his, and still staring resolutely in his eyes, Lily opened her mouth and spoke the only destination that really mattered.

"Take me to my son."

***

Albus Dumbledore looked up, as one of the many spindly silver instruments about his office lit up and began to whirr.  Rising from his desk, he moved to the intrusive object and stared intently at the small puffs of smoke it was emitting.

"Yes, but where?" he prompted, once he had deciphered the instrument’s message.  The machine puffed again, and the aged wizard nodded before tapping it sternly with his wand.  The instrument fell silent, and Dumbledore swept from the office.

***

For the second time that day, Lily awoke with a gasp.  She wasn't lying on the same smooth surface as before; this time, she felt rotten wood beneath her, and wet soil soaking through her robes.  Upon opening her eyes, she was met by the blackest, darkest dark she had ever seen, and a silence so intense it felt suffocating.  The air was stale, and carried a cloying, earthy stench that made her want to gag.  Swallowing down her disgust, she stretched out a cautious hand and barely managed to stifle a scream as her fingers were obstructed by something barely a foot above her head.  She followed the something with her arm, feeling her breath quicken as she scrabbled around and was met on all sides by nothing but dead wood.

She was in a coffin.

This time she did scream, and her hands smashed against the sides of the box, nails breaking through the weak wood and soil tumbling in, falling on her face, into her mouth.  Even as she choked and gasped for breath, a voice in the back of her mind shrieked that, sooner or later, the air would run out.  She would lie dead in her coffin after all.  She would never see her son again.

Just as she was giving up hope, there was a loud blast and the lid of the coffin flew off, soil above her parting and brilliant, blissful sunlight streaming in.  Lily flinched, and hid her eyes as the harsh glare struck her face, but her skin soaked up the warmth as though it hadn't seen sunlight in centuries.  She found herself wondering, with a jolt of panic, just how long they had actually been 'dead'; long enough for them to buried, at least.  Before she could reach any sort of conclusion, however, someone had grabbed her arm and pulled her from the ground, and this time when she opened her eyes it was to find James' dirty face inches from her own, and feel of his arms around her.

It was a few minutes before James pulled away, rubbing some of the grime from her face with a fistful of his robes.  Robes, Lily noticed, that were not the ones they had found in King’s Cross station; instead, they both appeared to be wearing their best black dress-robes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a weak cough, and Lily looked up, feeling her husband stiffen beside her.  They were not alone.

***

Dumbledore materialised in the graveyard of Godric's Hollow with a resounding _crack_ , and peered about himself cautiously.  Everything seemed still and quiet, the small churchyard peaceful and deserted on yet another undisrupted summer evening.  Yet the instrument in his office had told of a huge disturbance of magic, information which, alone, would be enough to peak his curiosity, but which had prompted both exhilaration and dread when he learned the origin of the disturbance.  The graves of Lily and James Potter, spoke the instrument, had just experienced an explosion of magic of such magnitude as had not been witnessed since the event that put the young couple there in the first place.

Quite frankly, the headmaster had expected to find the place swarming with Death Eaters.  Voldemort had returned to the place of his defeat, he had speculated, in an attempt to uncover what had truly happened that night.  Now that he was here, however, Dumbledore was forced to admit that the graveyard was in fact empty, and the graves undisturbed.

After his initial evaluation, the professor had kept his eyes firmly on the ground before him, examining with unnecessary focus the maroon boots that clad his feet.  Ashamed though he was by the thought, he had no desire to see the village he had once called home, or the place he had laid those he once called family.  His feet, however, seemed to have other ideas, and, as he watched, the boots he had been examining so closely began to move, carrying him forward as if of their own accord.

The small gravestone he stopped before was unremarkable – cold granite, dotted with lichen and moss – but seemed to tower within his vision with almost human importance.  His eyes quickly found the inscription, and he reached out a long finger to trace the fading words.

_Kendra Dumbledore_

He let his hand skim the words, birth, and death dates, before freezing on the last section.

_And her daughter Ariana_

"Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also," he murmured, bowing his head solemnly.

His moment of eulogy was cut short by a muffled bang which rent the silence of the graveyard, and which was followed by two desperate cries.  Dumbledore whipped his head around wildly, but the cemetery was as deserted as before.  He followed the source of the sound, weaving his way through the graves, and came to rest between the twin Potter headstones, heart fluttering with anticipation.  The noise was unmistakably coming from  _inside_.

With barely a moment's hesitation, the headmaster shot a silent  _reducto_ curse at both gravestones, followed by a strong shield charm in case the makers of the noise should be dangerous, and then fell back to watch, uncertain of what to expect.  The sight that did finally meet his eyes was something he never could have anticipated.

***

Turning, Lily saw Albus Dumbledore stumble back against a gravestone in shock, staring at the couple as though looking at a ghost.

"Lily. . ." he breathed.  "James –  Is this real?  Can this be?"

Lily almost wanted to laugh at the expression on her former headmaster's face, but decided he was entitled to a moment of astonishment.  He had, after all, just witnessed two of his ex-pupils – and friends – emerge from their graves.  After a brief pause, during which the professor regarded them warily, she took a hesitant step forwards, not wanting to shock the old man any more than they already had.

"Yes, Professor.  We're alive!" she said cautiously, drawing up short as Dumbledore raised his wand and levelled it at the two of them.  James took an instinctive step forward, and Lily said nothing as he placed himself slightly in front of her.  Instead, she took his hand, and the two waited patiently under the scrutiny of their old professor.  There was a muttered incantation, and Lily felt a wash of warmth rush through her body, making her hair ripple.  Dumbledore's eyes visibly widened.

“Can this be?” he repeated, stepping forwards and raising the wand again.  A different incantation was muttered, and a new sensation came over her, this time a prickling, tingling feel, comparable to _pins and needles_ throughout her whole body.

Again, Dumbledore looked startled at the result of his spell, but not satisfied.  He began to circle slowly around the couple, moving his wand in vague gestures up and down their bodies in what Lily recognised as an examination of their magical auras.  As the spell progressed, he seemed suddenly invigorated, a new youth to his step and fire in his gaze.

“By the grace of Gryffindor,” he breathed finally.  “Lily, James, my dear friends” – and without further warning he took two brisk steps forward and clasped the startled Potters to him in a bone-cracking, violet-cloaked embrace.

"Well, I must say, this is really quite amazing!" he proclaimed as he released them both, eyes watering and crooked nose twitching.  "To see you two up and about after all this time, and in the midst of such dark days.  It's a marvel.  It's more than that – it's a miracle!"  He nodded to himself, and when he looked back at them his eyes were possessed once again of their old twinkle.  Lily also felt his burning curiosity in the way he looked at them, as though they were a puzzle he could not wait to un-riddle.  She felt a stab of impatience.  Right now, all she wanted were answers of her own.

"All this time?  How long have we been. . . indisposed? Clearly long enough for a funeral, so I suppose it must at least have been a few days, probably weeks even –”  She took a deep breath and pushed forward to the most important question.  "And Albus, where is our son?  Where's Harry?"

***

The headmaster looked at this young couple, who had seen so much yet knew so little, and felt a great swell of sorrow rise within him.  These two, wonderful people did not know that they had been dead for the better part of fourteen years.  That they had missed most of their son’s childhood, and had leapt straight from one war to another.  He did not think he could bear to break it to them just yet.

"Harry is safe,” he reassured.  “He's –"  Albus hesitated at saying the word fine.  He knew that his young charge was _not_ fine, and could not bring himself to pretend otherwise, adding one more lie to the crucible.  He settled for repeating himself.  "He's safe."

He saw the glistening tears of relief veil Lily’s eyes, and heard James mutter a faint ‘ _thank Merlin_ ’ before the young man turned to face him.

"Thank you, sir" he said, looking Albus straight in the eye.  "Thank you for looking after him."

And Albus didn't have the heart to correct him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview:
> 
> James wasn't stupid; in fact, even as the school troublemaker he had been decidedly the opposite. He knew that the two of them had been absent a lot longer than the headmaster had originally made out, and if he were truly honest the thought scared him significantly. Just how had the world changed since that night? How much of their son's life had they missed? What had become of their friends?
> 
> "Albus," he said guardedly, fixing the professor with a gaze that warned he would not accept another evasion. "How long have we been gone?"
> 
>  
> 
> Please review!


	2. Story Time

"I want to see my son," Lily said, pushing herself up from the gravestone against which she and James had been leaning.  She stared at Dumbledore, who hadn't moved.  "Professor, I want to see Harry.  Can you take us to him?"  It wasn't really a request, as they all knew, and yet the old wizard seemed to be hesitating.  “Sir?”

He stood up and faced them.

"I want nothing more than for Harry to meet the two of you,” he began, “and vice versa.  I am afraid, however, that it will have to wait a little while.”  He raised his hand against Lily’s protests.  “I know, my dear, but there is much that must be discussed first.”

He turned and began walking towards the churchyard gate, robes somehow billowing majestically behind him even on a night as still as this one.  Lily and James followed him obediently across the parched grass.

“I’m afraid the world has changed substantially whilst the two of you were gone,” he continued as they walked, “and there are many things which you must know before you can see Harry, or anyone for that matter.”  He passed through the gate and paused on the other side, turning back to them.  “There is also the question of his housing to be seen to."

James wasn't stupid; in fact, even as the school troublemaker he had been decidedly the opposite.  He knew that the two of them had been absent a lot longer than the headmaster had originally made out, and if he were truly honest the thought scared him significantly.  Just how had the world changed since that night?  How much of their son's life had they missed?  What had become of their friends?

"Albus,” he said guardedly, fixing the professor with a gaze that warned he would not accept another evasion.  “How long have we been gone?"

Albus Dumbledore inhaled deeply and took a moment, gazing out over the small town-square to a pub opposite.  The door had just been opened, and the trio were briefly beckoned by the faint sounds of music and chatter leaking from within, drifting casually across to their huddle in the darkened churchyard.  A single man staggered through the door and swayed down the steps, allowing the door to swing shut behind him and silence to smother the square once more.  Dumbledore gave a weary sigh.

“Almost fourteen years," he said softly.

James blinked, and beside him heard Lily's breath catch.  Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t that.  Dumbledore had been so nonchalant when Lily first mentioned it, as though however long they had been gone, however much they had missed, it was manageable.  It was redeemable.  _This_ , however. . .

"Fourteen years?" he breathed in disbelief.  "Fourteen – _fourteen years_!”  He ran both hands through his dishevelled hair before letting them drop down and cover his face.  “Harry,” he moaned.  “He must be almost fifteen!”

He vaguely registered Lily’s silence beside him, and turned to see her face anguished and her cheeks wet with tears, curling in on herself as though under a sorrow too heavy to bear.  He took her hand, offering what small comfort he could, but still grappling himself with what this meant.  His son had spent most of his childhood an orphan.  He had had to grow up without a father.  Without a mother.

His chubby, cheeky little foal had become a teenager overnight.

Dumbledore nodded.  "I didn't want to do this now,” he murmured.  “I would have preferred to return to headquarters before saying anything”.  Lily looked as though she wanted to question him further, but the professor rested a hand on her shoulder and she held her tongue.  “I’ll explain everything later,” he promised.  “It’s not safe to be out these days.”

He offered an outstretched arm to Lily and James, who each grabbed hold, and with a whirl of his cloak they were gone.

***

Dumbledore apparated them onto a muggle street, surrounded on all sides by tall, Victorian houses.  A few late-night wanderers could still be seen scurrying to-and-fro, but for the most part the street was empty and no-one had seen them arrive.  James scanned the row of houses with his seeker’s eyesight until he found what he was looking for.

"There," he pointed the anomaly out to Lily.  "See how the numbers go from 11 to 13?"  She nodded and motioned to Dumbledore, keeping her voice low.

"That's headquarters?"  Dumbledore nodded, before moving over to James and looking him squarely in the eye.

"The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,” he said, “is at Number 12, Grimmauld Place."  In his peripheral vision, James saw the terrace begin to slide apart, rumbling and creaking as a new house forced its way between the walls of its neighbours.  He barely noticed, however, as Dumbledore repeated himself to Lily and she too was able to see the house.   _Number 12 Grimmauld_   _Place_ , he was thinking.   _No, surely not._ He couldn’t think how Dumbledore could possibly have persuaded Sirius to return to his old house, even for use as headquarters; although, now that he thought about it, everything Sirius had told of his paranoid parents suggested it would be an exceedingly safe place for the Order to meet.

Dumbledore lead the way towards the house, stopping just before they reached the door.

"I'm going to cast a disillusionment charm," he explained.  "Your arrival will cause quite an uproar, and I'd prefer to explain at least the basics of what you have missed before you face the others."  The Potters nodded, and the familiar cold sensation trickled down James’ back as the headmaster cast a net disillusionment charm, allowing the three of them to still see each other but hiding them from the world.  The door was pushed open and the trio entered softly, picking their way carefully around a haphazardly placed hat-stand in the porch.

No-one seemed to have heard them.  A low hubbub of voices could be heard from the kitchen, undisturbed by their entry, but the hall they found themselves in was dark and empty.  James found himself straining to hear the conversations issuing from the kitchen, suddenly desperate to hear a familiar voice.  Was his son behind that door?  It was, after all, Sirius’ house, and his friend was Harry’s legal guardian should anything happen to him and Lily.  He thought at least one of the voices could belong to a teenage boy.  But, James reminded himself, Sirius was unlikely to actually _live_ here, given his hatred of the place, and at fifteen Harry surely wasn’t a member of the Order.  If he was rational about it, there was really no reason for his son to be here at all.

James tore his gaze from the door and followed the others quietly upstairs and into a side room.  The headmaster placed a silencing charm around the room so they could talk normally, locked the door and raised the disillusionment charm.

"Albus –" Lily began, and it was clear all this secrecy was beginning to wear her down.  All she wanted was some answers and to see her child.  Instead, Dumbledore motioned for the pair to sit down, and lowered himself carefully into a chair.  He steepled his fingers and tucked them beneath his chin, clearing his throat a few times.

"I suppose,” he said, “I had better start at the beginning."

***

"As you know, the war was going badly," Dumbledore began.  "Voldemort was rising in power, and seemed undefeatable.  They were dark days, no-one sure who to trust.  The order was being destroyed one by one . . . the Prewitts, the McKinnons, the Bones . . .  And then, one day, I came to you about a prophecy."

Lily and James both nodded.  They remembered the prophecy.  Dumbledore had gathered them and the Longbottoms to tell them, quite simply, that one of their sons was going to have to defeat the darkest wizard who had ever lived.  It was a terrible thing for a parent to hear, though Lily knew she could no more have wished it upon the unsuspecting boy in Alice Longbottom’s arms than her own.  Dumbledore continued.

"Let me recap for you. The child to defeat the dark lord would be born as the seventh month dies – the end of July – to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.  This gave two children.  One, a boy named Neville, born to the aurors Frank and Alice.  The other, your own son Harry.  This was the information that Voldemort received.  However, his informant had only heard the first half of the prophecy; the second half was, as I informed you on the night, rather more illuminating.

“Voldemort would mark the child as his equal.  He did not know this, and so he proceeded to your house, intent upon removing the threat before it could grow in power.  However, had he known the full contents of the prophecy I believe he would not have acted so hastily, for in doing so he inadvertently chose the boy who was to defeat him.  I do not know for certain what led him to believe Harry was the subject of the prophecy and not Neville, though I have my suspicions."

Lily looked up at the professor as he paused for breath, eyes burning.

"So that night means Harry is the one who must defeat him?" she asked, clutching James' hand rather more tightly than she meant to.  Dumbledore nodded, his eyes for once without their twinkle.

"I am afraid so."

"But what actually happened?" James asked. "How did he find us?"  The headmaster made to answer, but Lily interrupted.

"It was Peter, wasn't it?" she said quietly, flinching as James’ whipped around.  The thought had been scratching away, unbidden, at the back of her mind for some time now.  She could hardly bear to consider it, but could not think of another possible explanation.  "Peter was secret keeper . . . Did they capture him?  Or did he betray us?"

James's fingernails bit into her hand, eyes wide with shock and hurt.  "Lily, think about what you're saying!  Peter could never. . .  he wouldn’t. . .”

His feeble protests trailed away as he realised that Dumbledore was not denying it.

"No." he muttered.  His wide, wet eyes seemed to suddenly remember how to blink, and he did so rapidly, trying unsuccessfully to contain the tears.  Lily wrapped her arms around his neck.  She hated knowing what this knowledge would do to her husband.  James, who valued friendship above anything – who would die for his friends, who would stick with them no matter what – betrayed by a man he considered a brother.

"It is true." Dumbledore said sadly.  "Pettigrew betrayed you to Voldemort.  I cannot say why; I can only assume that his desire for power was stronger than his loyalty for a friend by whom he had always felt overshadowed.  But Peter was the spy."

"What happened that night?” Lily pressed.  “How are we still alive?  And what happened to Harry?  And –"  Dumbledore raised his hand to stem the onslaught of questions.

"For the moment, I do not know how you survived.  I think that it is a puzzle in which I shall have much interest later.  However, for now. . ."  He cleared his throat with the air of one delivering a speech.

“Voldemort arrived on the 31st October, 1981.  James –" (James gave a nod to show he had recovered enough to listen) "– tried to hold him off while you took Harry.  James was murdered."

Lily could have sworn she felt her heart stutter.  She knew that they had both died, but to think of the love of her life being _murdered._ . .  It was like that night all over again.  She hadn’t seen what had happened downstairs that Halloween, having run to Harry – but she had been able to hear it.  The cold voice and the dull thud that her heart told her was her husband hitting the floor.  Knowing that whatever happened next – even if by some miracle they were rescued that very second – what she had just heard was irrevocable.  James was gone.  Her and Harry were alone.

She shivered.  Fourteen years was a long time to be gone, and whatever came next was undoubtedly going to be challenging.  But she’d take this eventuality over that one any day.

"Voldemort then came after you and Harry, Lily. He told you – or so Harry has informed me – to step aside. You did not –"

"Wait," James interjected. "What do you mean, Harry told you?  How the hell does Harry know, he was one year old at the time."  Lily tried to interpret the headmaster’s expression, eventually deciding it to be a sort of weary sadness, as though he regretted bringing it up.

"We will come to such matters later,” he said finally.  “It is up to Harry to tell you about himself and his experiences when he is ready.  Now, as I was saying," he continued.  “You, Lily, refused to move out of Voldemort’s way, consequently sacrificing yourself for Harry when he then murdered you."  Lily rested her head on James's shoulder, who had been gazing at her with a conflicted expression.  There was pain, obviously; but Lily thought there was also a flash of pride in his eyes as he looked at her.

"It was this sacrifice which saved Harry from Voldemort.  A sacrifice of love creates, after all, a much stronger protection than any enchantment can.  Voldemort could not touch Harry, now that you had died to save him.  When he turned his wand on Harry, therefore, his killing curse instead rebounded upon himself and his powers were lost.  Harry was left with only a small scar on his forehead – with which Voldemort had _marked him as his equal_ – and the first war was over."

The tension visibly flowed out of the two parents.  Dumbledore had already told them Harry was safe, of course.  But still, hearing that he had escaped that night mostly unharmed when things had seemed so hopeless. . . Lily felt as though she’d been resurrected all over again.

“You saved him,” James whispered in her ear, breath warm and precious against her neck.  “You saved our Harry.”

Lily however had picked up on something.  “What do you mean the ‘first’ war, Professor?  And –” she continued, remembering another misleading bit of information, “if Voldemort was defeated then why is the Order still active?”

This time the headmaster’s expression was undoubtedly sad, and unbearably weary.  In all the time she had known him, Lily didn’t think he had ever looked quite so _old_.

"I did not say defeated”, he sighed.  “I said that his powers were lost.  Voldemort became mere spirit, kept upon the earth without strength or body.  Most _believed_ him to be dead, oh yes; or at least too weak to ever regain his strength.  But it was not so.  Let me continue with the story, and I shall come to that.

"The night you died, Sirius Black realised who must have betrayed you.  He tracked down Peter and threatened him."  James was nodding, unsurprised.  Sirius had never been the most rational of people when suffering, and Lily couldn’t even imagine the pain he and Remus must have felt, losing one brother at the hand of another.  The four of them had been so close, she shuddered to think what James himself might have done had one of them been in his place.

"Pettigrew shouted some things about how it was Sirius who had betrayed you, and then he blew up a muggle street.  He cut off his own finger and transformed into his animagus form."  Here, James' head shot up, looking surprised and a little sheepish at Dumbledore’s casual revelation that he knew about their wrongdoings at school.  "When the ministry officials arrived they found Sirius laughing at the scene and several eyewitnesses who swore blind they had seen Sirius Black blast Pettigrew, killing him instantly and destroying most of the street in the process.  Sirius was sent to Azkaban without a trial, where he remained for twelve years."

Lily felt her mouth fall open.  She hadn’t expected that.  Beside her, James leapt to his feet, anger and confusion rolling off him in waves.

"What!?" he yelled, cutting through Lily's own protestations.  "Without a trial!?  What in merlin’s –  That's ridiculous!  Anyone who knew Sirius at all should have known that he never could have done it!"

"I know, James."  Dumbledore exhaled deeply, dragging a hand despondently across his face.  "But the world was a dark place, and the Ministry wanted to look like they were doing something.  Plus, the evidence was overwhelming.  Sirius had – to the knowledge of everyone but yourselves, Peter and Sirius himself – been secret keeper, and the secret keeper had betrayed you.  I myself believed in his guilt."  Dumbledore bowed his head in contrition.

"But they know he's innocent now, right?" said James.  "I mean, if he's out of Azkaban. . ."

"Actually, he broke out," Dumbledore corrected and Lily almost laughed.  If anyone were to break out of the most secure prison in the world it would be Sirius Black.

"But that means Harry can't have lived with Sirius," she wondered instead, maternal concern once more at the forefront of her mind.  "Unless Remus. . .?"  James snorted, more harshly than he meant to in his distress.

"Lils, you know as well as I do Moony couldn't raise a child with his condition."

The two Potters looked at each other in confusion, before turning back to the headmaster, eyebrows raised expectantly.  Dumbledore had the air of a man bracing himself for an explosion.

"I sent Harry to live with his muggle relatives,” came the murmur.  "Your sister, Lily, and her husband. They –"  He was interrupted by a sound like an angry cat, as Lily lurched to her feet.

"You did  _what_!?” she exclaimed, certain she must have misheard.  “You sent my boy to live with that. . . that –”  She struggled for the right word to describe Petunia, settling for one she had never before let herself apply to her sister, but which – now that she really considered the woman’s behaviour those last few years – seemed entirely appropriate.  “– that _bitch_!?  Have you gone senile?  Do you want him miserable –”

“Let the man explain himself, Lily” James said flatly, pulling her back into her seat.  Privately, though, he couldn’t agree more with her outburst, although personally he was less concerned about his wife’s sister and more about that brute she had married.  Dumbledore hastened to obey.

"When you sacrificed yourself Lily, you created a blood protection.  As long as his mother’s blood also resided in the place he called home, then neither Voldemort nor his Death Eaters could find Harry.  Petunia and Vernon Dursley were his only surviving blood relatives, and only by living with them could he be safe."

There was silence for a moment as the couple processed this new information.  As explanations went, Lily conceded, it wasn’t terrible.  Still, she felt as though she were fighting an impossible battle trying to balance her desire for her son’s happiness with that of his safety.

"My poor boy,” she said finally, relaxing into James in resignation.  “He can't have been happy."

"I can't pretend he was,” came Dumbledore’s almost apologetic response.  “However, he arrived at Hogwarts safe and, for the most part, healthy.  It is not my right to tell you of his life, including his time at Hogwarts; it is up to him to tell you about those."  Lily perked up at the thought of talking to their son.

"I shall skip, then, to a few months ago.  At the end of Harry’s fourth year, Voldemort returned, forging for himself a new body and gathering his remaining followers.  Harry was there to witness it.  I need both of you to understand now that you are not to pressure him for this information.  The experience was nothing short of traumatic, and he will not relive it lightly."

Lily thought she had experienced more emotional highs and lows in the last hour than she had in her whole life.  She was so drained and overwhelmed with information she decided she didn’t even have the resilience to process this new cause for concern.  It would be more efficient, she resolved, to simply adopt a constant state of concern for her son and sort through the specifics later.

"The country is now in a state of warfare.  However, the ministry is refusing to belief that Voldemort is once more back and active.  As a result, the Order of the Phoenix has been re-established, working on recruiting followers and gathering intelligence about Voldemort’s current behaviour.  Sirius volunteered this house – to which, I am afraid, he has to stay confined, unless he wishes to be found and returned to Azkaban."

"Poor Padfoot," James murmured dejectedly.  The professor’s story having drawn to a close, the trio held a moment of sombre reflection for all the evils they had discussed.  Just as the silence was becoming uncomfortable, Dumbledore spoke once more.

"Well,” he said briskly, rising and smoothing the folds of his cloak.  “That brings us to the present day.  If you are feeling up to it, I very much think it time for you to meet with the other members of this household.”  He gestured for Lily and James to join him, and as they did so they noticed his face no longer seemed quite so lined, nor quite so weary, now the story was over.  His eyes twinkled.

“Shall we go and satisfactorily shock the other residents with your . . . _unexpected arrival_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview:
> 
> The enormous red stag stood nearly 7 feet tall, with antlers so broad and branching they could almost have passed for trees. The dense muscles of its shoulders rippled as it advanced towards them, bending its front legs in what could only be described as a bow, and lowering its head to level with theirs. The head gave a great snort, bathing them in a warm wave of air that tickled their faces and danced in their hair, and fixed them each in turn with a deep gaze that seemed to whisper 'James'.


	3. Old Faces, New Faces

Sirius Black was not a happy man.

He was not a happy man for many reasons, the most prominent – at that moment – being the lank-haired, greasy-faced, hook-nosed figure of Severus Snape stood before him, sneering around the room as he gave his report.

". . .and he will attempt to try and reach this item of desire by any means possible. . ."

Merlin, Sirius hated that man's voice. Every drawled syllable was like a tiny Cornish pixie wreaking havoc inside his gut. He sometimes wondered whether seven years of hate hadn't conditioned a physical response to the sound, because every time the potions master started to speak Sirius wanted to punch something.

". . .including exploiting such connections he may or may not know he has with the Potter boy."

Severus Snape concluded his account and sat down to an outbreak of worried mutters around the room. Sirius lounged back in his chair and tried to suppress the writhing apprehension in his own stomach. He wasn't so consumed with loathing for the orator to miss the seriousness of the report.

"Thank you, Severus" said Arthur Weasley from the head of the table. "As always, your intelligence is appreciated." Snape leered in response.

"No matter, Arthur" – his eyes flicked over to Sirius – "We must all do our bit to help the cause."

Sirius felt his face burn. He knew what the Slytherin was referring to; his own confinement to this house, and his resulting frustration at not being allowed to help fight. He had been making the same gibe for weeks, but it didn't make it any less galling. Sirius didn't know how much more he could stand. To live through  _twelve years_  of Azkaban (of the greatest suffering known to man), and to  _finally_ come back to some semblance of a home (of a proper life), only to be right back here trading taunts with his childhood nemesis, to still be this easy to work up after everything else he'd suffered –

Before he could respond however a hand clenched around his shoulder, warning him not to rise to the taunt, and he glanced next to him to see Remus shaking his head. Arthur must have noticed the mutinous look in Sirius' eyes, because he pressed on.

"Albus has been informed of this?" he queried. Snape nodded.

"I saw fit to report to him first, knowing that he could not be present." Arthur nodded wearily and sighed, presumably in concern for what this new information might mean for Harry. Sirius knew he had already come to think of the boy as one of his own; in fact, he rather thought the man had been a father for so long and to so many that he might not be able to help himself.

"In that case, that wraps up this meeting" he said, and was answered almost immediately by a loud clatter as the assembled rose from their chairs. "On a lighter note –" he continued at a prod from his wife, raising his voice above the din, "Molly wants me to remind you that any who wish to stay for dinner are more than welcome to."

Sirius rose from his chair, stretching muscles heavy with the familiar ache of sitting in one place too long. If he had it his way he would transform right there and then and just start running – not because he was running from the aurors, but just because he could, and he wouldn't stop until they caught him. Anything to release some of the incessant tension and restlessness that had built up in his bones.

He glared at the retreating figure of Severus Snape and ran a hand through his long hair as substitute for breaking something. One of the rings on his bony fingers became tangled and he yanked it free painfully with almost sinister satisfaction. Remus too was watching Snape, though his gaze didn't retain the same hatred as Sirus'; more a mild resentment that the man felt the need to keep nettling his friend for the sake of a school grudge. The room gradually emptied around them and those who were staying made their way into the adjacent kitchen, from which was drifting the clanking of pots and pans as Molly started cooking dinner. The last straggling order members made their way down the hall, and the kitchen clatter was joined a moment later by the bang of the front door and a sudden eruption of screeches and wails.

" _Filth. . . half-breeds. . . blood traitors_!" came the familiar impassioned cries. _"Filthy mudbloods besmirching the house of black!"_  With a cry of rage, Sirius threw himself from the room and down the hall to the large portrait.

"Shut  _up_!" he yelled, pointing his wand at the curtains and blasting them shut with a noise like a cannon boom. He turned, panting, to see Remus lowering his wand, having also struck the portrait, and clapped his friend on the shoulder. He honestly didn't know how he would cope in this house without Remus. The man was his oldest remaining friend and the only link he still had to the best years of his life. If being in this house brought back all his worst memories, then Remus was the closest thing he had to remembering all the good ones. The man knew what he needed, too: when to give him space, when to cheer him up – and more importantly, how. It helped that Remus was the only one who could fully understand how he felt, outlawed from society himself by his 'furry little problem', so his gaze never held the same pity that some of their peers' did. If there was one thing Sirius hated as much as Snape it was pity.

His only ray of sunshine – and quite a large one, at that – was that, in a few days, the final plans for Harry's removal from Privet Drive would come through and he would once again be with his godson. The thought alone made him feel a million times lighter; if Remus was the brother Sirius had always wanted, then Harry was the son he had never had.

The two returned to the main room, called by the first scents of what smelt like a promising dinner already wafting beneath the door. The Weasley patriarch and his elder sons had seated themselves around the table and were deep in discussion about the issues raised in the meeting. Sirius took a seat at the other end and leaned back on his chair legs, barely taking in their conversation, tapping his wand absent-mindedly against his knee. Beside him, Remus retrieved an issue of the _Daily Prophet_  and disappeared behind it.

Suddenly, the door opened and everyone was surprised to see Albus Dumbledore step through. Arthur jumped up instantly, moving around the table to the old professor.

"Albus!" he said, taken aback. "We thought you couldn't make it tonight. I'm afraid the meeting's already finished, but Severus said he'd reported to you. . ?" he finished enquiringly, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes of course, thank you Arthur. I'm actually not here for the meeting; something else has come to light, and I was rather hoping I could speak to Sirius and Remus." He directed the last at the two friends, who nodded in surprise and stood up.

"Will you be staying for supper, Albus?" came Molly Weasley's voice, as the motherly woman poked her head out from behind the door to the kitchen. Dumbledore smiled ingratiatingly.

"Alas, my dear woman, I fear I cannot." He smiled again and gestured for Sirius and Remus to follow him out the room. "Shall we?" he said, and they all traipsed out.

* * *

James and Lily stood in the empty room in which Dumbledore had left them, waiting in trembling suspense for the professor to return. They had agreed that Remus and Sirius should be the first they met, and it was true that James could scarcely stand another minute without seeing his friends. But he was undeniably worried about their reactions after such a long time, and almost found himself wishing they had begun with someone easier. Someone with whom emotions weren't quite so taught, hearts quite so fragile. Did his friends resent him? Did they even still think of him? Had they perhaps managed to move on, and his return would only serve to reopen wounds better left closed?

He felt the pressure of Lily's arm around his waist as she gave him a small, comforting smile. The set of her mouth and slight restlessness of her leg said she was also nervous. They were her friends too – particularly Remus – and he imagined she was as conflicted and worried as he was.

Before he left, Dumbledore had replaced the disillusionment charm, deciding (and they had both agreed) that if things were taken too quickly they could get out of hand. The last thing James wanted to do was give his old friends a heart-attack. Or, which was more likely, shock them into thinking he was a death-eater and get himself hexed for his trouble. Still, he wished they could get these introductions over with so all the secrecy could end.

As though granting his wish, the door suddenly opened and three men entered. James felt as though he had been hit with a bludger. He barely registered Dumbledore walk in, glancing briefly into the corner as he did so to where they stood. Instead, he stared hungrily at the two men who had followed, face breaking into a huge grin as he soaked up the sight of his old friends – so familiar, and yet so different – standing before them. Both were older and more tired, and looked as though they had seen their share of horrors. With sorrow, James recognized the gaunt look of Azkaban in Sirius' hollow cheeks and eyes, and the air of hardship and exhaustion that clung to Remus' prematurely lined face.

"I have brought you here," Dumbledore was saying, "because some new information has recently come to light, and I think you should be the first to hear it. Information concerning the Potters."

The reaction was predictable; both faces set deeper into their masks, the weight of shared grief settling into its familiar place on both pairs of shoulders, and the two friends eyed each other nervously. James listened with passing interest as Dumbledore explained his detection of the energy burst and peculiar findings upon his arrival at the graves. He was focussed instead on the familiar way in which his friends moved. How Sirius was constantly shifting from side to side, fidgeting his fingers or nodding his head, too active a man to ever stay still. The way the forehead above Remus' intelligent eyes creased as he listened, or how he still stood, forever tall and sensible, always reliably  _there_  when his friends were in trouble.

Dumbledore had reached the point in his story beyond which words failed. "I think," he was saying, "that I had better show you instead." And with a casual flick of his wand, never taking his eyes from the two men before him, the old wizard lifted the disillusionment charm and the figures of Lily and James sprung into existence.

The response was immediate. There were two loud intakes of breath as both men fell back, eyes telling them what their brain knew to be impossible. Both instinctively reached for their wands, but Dumbledore flicked his own before they could use them and the sticks flew neatly into his hands.

"We probably shouldn't use those until all the story has been told," he said calmly. "And what a story I'm sure it is."

None of the others were listening. James had taken a hesitant step forward, pulling away from Lily, who hung back to give the three some space. He had been reaching out to his friends, but stopped with a pang of dread as both took an involuntary step backwards. He bowed his head as Sirius snapped to life once more.

"No," he was muttering. "No, no, no, what are you  _doing_!?" His arms were waving like the Whomping Willow, voice a crescendo of panic. "What kind of twisted, dark magic . . . making yourselves look like them . . . I guess Azkaban sent me cuckoo after all –" His ramblings continued and James turned to Remus, hoping to share an exasperated look but finding only a similar shock reflected there.

"Moony, Padfoot," he whispered, holding up his palms to show he meant no threat. "It's really us. I'm sorry it's been so long, but it's us. We're back; we're  _alive_."

He did not know what he expected his words to achieve, but their only result was Sirius taking an angry step forward. Lacking a wand, he settled for raising a fist instead, and glared at the Potters threateningly.

"Okay," he spat, venom dripping from his voice. "Okay. If you really are James Potter, then prove it."

James' head snapped up. He knew without question what his friend intended – what his friend  _needed_. He held Sirius' gaze solemnly for a few seconds and, in a blink, had vanished. In James Potter's place, as proud and majestic as he had been that first transformation so many full-moons ago, stood Prongs.

Sirius staggered back, stumbling into Remus and sending the two of them crashing to the ground. They stayed where they fell, frozen by the sight of the powerful creature towering above them. The enormous red stag stood nearly 7 feet tall, with antlers so broad and branching they could almost have passed for trees. The dense muscles of its shoulders rippled as it advanced towards them, bending its front legs in what could only be described as a bow, and lowering its head to level with theirs. The head gave a great snort, bathing them in a warm wave of air that tickled their faces and danced in their hair, and fixed them each in turn with a deep gaze that seemed to whisper  _James_. All the fight left Sirius.

"It's really you," he whispered. There wasn't a dry eye in the room. "It's really you."

Sensing what his friend wanted, James stretched his long neck, nuzzling the two men and inviting them both to place a hand upon his nose. As they did so, the stag vanished once more and instead there was only James Potter, alive and smiling and hugging them as though they were the most precious people in the world.

"James," muttered Remus, finally finding his voice. "How is this possible?"

He had directed the question to Dumbledore, but the headmaster had tactfully left the room as soon as Sirius and Remus no longer appeared a threat. In any case,  _how_  it was possible could wait, since now that they had accepted it  _was_  they suddenly remembered Lily, stood small and lost at the back of the room.

Remus mumbled something resembling her name and in a second was at her side and hugging her fiercely. He was joined by Sirius's lanky arms and then by James, who Sirius had yet to let go of. Reunited at last, the four sank to the floor in an embrace fourteen-years in the making, one friend's tears flowing into another's, and lost themselves in the comfort of each other's presence.

They did not resurface for some time.

* * *

When Sirius and Remus returned to the kitchen later, everyone could tell that something was different. Something had changed; some burden they hadn't even realised was there had been lifted from their shoulders, and the pair looked more relaxed than they had in years. Their stress lines were a little less pronounced; their eyes held a little less grief. And they were both grinning.

Yes, something was different, and everyone slowly realised what it was. The two men were happy.

* * *

Lily and James stood outside the door to the kitchen, through which Remus and Sirius had just passed.  _One more introduction,_  Dumbledore had said.  _One more introduction and then the secrecy could end, for a while._

Dumbledore entered the room after the others and Lily heard the low murmur of voices. He talked for a few minutes and then, at some direction she had missed, James suddenly tensed beside her and led her towards the door. It opened to reveal a sea of shocked faces; order members staying for dinner, old friends – even the children were there. They looked as though they had just finished eating, sat in stunned silence behind stacks of empty dishes. The couple stood on display for what felt like an age, before a tall, gangly red-haired boy near the front of the crowd spoke up.

"Are you Harry's dead parents?"

A girl with copious amounts of frizzy hair slapped him on the arm and muttered a scolding "Ronald!" But the spell had been broken and the crowd suddenly surged forwards, clapping the Potters on the arms, hugging them, proclaiming their disbelief and elation. Only when the mob had withdrawn slightly was Lily able to take in the faces surrounding them. She saw Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, face notably more mutilated than the last time they had met, and recognised Molly and Arthur Weasley, surrounded by a mass of red-hair that she assumed must be their children. Arthur Weasley stepped forwards.

"Lily, James, I don't know if you remember me –"

"Arthur!" said James loudly, clapping the man on the back. Lily stepped forwards and kissed him on each cheek, before moving forwards and grasping his wife in a strong hug.

"Molly!"

Molly Weasley smiled tearfully as she returned the hug. "Oh Lily, dear" she sniffed, wiping her eyes on her apron. "What a miracle!"

She stepped back to reveal the brood behind her and Lily finally got a good look at the children. She thought she had probably seen most of them at some point or another, she and Molly having known each other through Gideon and Fabian, but they had been so small and had been kept so separate from the war effort that she didn't recognise most of them. Molly gestured vaguely into the throng.

"Bill, my eldest –" A handsome young man in his twenties smiled and stepped forward, "and Charlie – " Another moved forwards, "I think you know. . .?" Lily and James nodded.

"Last time I saw you," Lily said, smiling at Bill, "you must have been about ten. And you, Charlie, could only have been about eight." The young men smiled bashfully. Molly continued with the introductions.

"This is Ginny –" A pretty young girl with hair almost redder than her brothers' stepped forwards, smiling.

"Hi," she said, "It's great to finally be able to meet you."

"And this is Fred," (Molly pointed at one teenager) "And George," (she pointed at an identical teen beside the first). The two boys looked indignant.

"No,  _I'm_  George" the first said haughtily.

"And I'm Fred. Honestly Mother, can you  _still_  not tell us apart?" Molly eyed them shrewdly.

"Okay, then  _that_ 's Fred and  _that_ 's George."

"Only joking," they said in unison, and their mother groaned in frustration. The twins stepped forwards.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Gred" said the first.

"And I'm Forge." Lily smiled at their behaviour, while behind her James roared with laughter.

"I'm Ron," said the boy who had spoken when they first came in, who looked about Harry's age. He stepped forward and shook the Potters' hands. "I'm Harry's best mate." Lily and James' smiles grew wider. The busy-haired girl stepped forwards.

"And I'm Hermione Granger. I'm Harry's other best friend. It's a pleasure to meet you Mr and Mrs Potter."

"Please, call me Lily" she said, taking the girl's outstretched hand and squeezing it tenderly. She already liked the look of this Hermione, who had an air of kind intelligence. It was good to know Harry at least had some nice friends.

"And call me James. Mr Potter makes me sound like my dad." Hermione smiled before moving back and Arthur picked up the introductions.

"And this is Mad-Eye, Kingsley, obviously you know Sirius and Remus, and Tonks –" he said, pointing out the correct people, "whose first name shall remain unspoken." He chuckled and Tonks winked at the pair, hair briefly changing maroon.

Introductions over, at least for now, Molly ushered the couple into chairs around the kitchen table, and was just offering them food and drinks when they were disturbed by the shrill clanging of the doorbell and a cacophony of shrieks from the hall.

"How many times!?" Molly exploded, flinging open the door and storming towards the sound. "Is it  _so_ hard to knock!?" The curious crowd followed her down the narrow hallway in time to see her wrench open the front door, no doubt preparing to give the caller a good scolding, and fall silent in surprise. There on the doorstep was a manic-looking Mundungus Fletcher, shivering and shaking on where he stood.

"Dementors!" he panted, clutching the door frame with white knuckles, and Lily felt dread grip her heart.

"Dementors. . . Little Whinging. . . Harry. . . warn Dumbledore. . ." And he gave a final, frightened squeak, and collapsed before their eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting stuff. Whatever will happen next...
> 
>  
> 
> Preview:
> 
> "Harry is one of the bravest, kindest, purest young men I know," he stated, aware of the way in which James and Lily leant in, hanging on his every word. "He always thinks of others before himself and never takes anything for granted. Although," his tone darkened, "that may be a result of those dreadful relatives he grew up with. He is compassionate, more than a little reckless and, I think I'm safe in saying, a fiercely loyal friend." He looked around for confirmation and the children all nodded passionately. "He also looks precisely like you, James, but with Lily's eyes." He turned to the room once more. "Have I missed anything?"
> 
> "Sheer, dumb luck" said Ron, with a half-smirk at Hermione.


	4. The Crook's Tale

There was silence.  Lily had found herself in the middle of the crowd still huddled around the door, confusion on their faces, Mundungus at their feet.  She recognised the small figure from Order meetings all those years ago, but didn’t think she had ever had any real contact with him.  At that moment he seemed the most important person in her life.

"Dementors?" she whispered, turning fearfully to James, who had gone equally pale.  "De-Dementors . . . with Harry . . . what?  How?"

“A very good question” came Dumbledore’s voice from behind her.  He had stepped forwards and raised his wand to levitate the visitor inside, but before he could Sirius pushed past and yanked the unconscious crook up by the collar of his robes.  Molly, still stood nervously by the door, peered around the square outside and slammed it shut.

The group followed Sirius as he dragged Mundungus down the hall and into the kitchen, propping him vaguely upright on a chair and pointing his wand into his face.

“ _Enervate_.”

Mundungus’ eyes flew open, and grew wide at the worried faces pressed around him.  When Sirius stepped aside to let Dumbledore question the little man, the eyes grew wider still.

“I’m sorry,” he began babbling, “sorry professor, but it was such a good business deal yuh see, and I could’na just –”

Dumbledore eyed him with suspicion.

“What are you saying?” he said carefully.  “Mundungus, what has happened to Harry?”

Mundungus took a sudden interest in the feet of those around him, avoiding the headmaster’s eye.

“Dementors came to ‘Arry’s town,” he confessed to the floor, “and tried to do him and his cousin in.”  The crowd drew in a collective gasp, and Lily felt her stomach plummet into her shoes.  “It’s alright,” he added quickly, “’Arry fought ‘em off!”

His words did not appease the onlookers; in fact they had the opposite effect, and Lily could not help the small whimper that escaped her lips.  A hand fell comfortingly on her shoulder, and she turned to see Molly offering a worried smile.  When Dumbledore next spoke, his voice was tight with anger.

“And why did Harry have to fight them off, when he had you to guard him?  Why were we not notified as soon as they approached Little Whinging?”

Mundungus balked.

“Well, like uh said, it was a very good business opportunity and –”

Even Lily almost quailed at the controlled fury radiating from Dumbledore, as he rose to his full height and fixed the crook with a scowl so disapproving he looked every inch the headmaster.

“Mundungus Fletcher,” he intoned, “are you telling me that you left Harry alone and unprotected because you spotted a chance to make some quick galleons?”

Lily wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but every adult in the room seemed as angry as Dumbledore.  Sirius had even twitched his wand in the crook’s direction, and Molly looked as though she were seconds from drawing her own.  Only the children seemed as ignorant as she and James, though still concerned.

"Well – ” Mundungus was stammering, "I mean, well, he weren't so unprotected and alone and all that, I mean ol' Figgy was there an' all, wa’nt she?"

This was the wrong thing to say, if Sirius’ growl was anything to go by.

“Mrs Figg is a squib, you dung-headed son of a banshee –” he began, before quieting at a raised hand from Dumbledore.  The old headmaster began pacing.

"So, you left Harry – then what happened?"

"Well, I don't know exac'ly wha' happened, 'cause I wa'nt there –"

More growls followed.  Lily felt James’ tension radiating from beside her and gently rubbed her shoulder to his.  Mundungus hurried on.

"From wha' Figgy said, though, two dementors came after 'Arry and the fat muggle, and 'Arry fought ‘em off.”

“Patronus?” Remus interjected, a hint of pride in his voice.  At Mundungus’ nod, Sirius clapped his friend on the back, and Lily made a mental note to ask them about it later.  She was impressed; she certainly hadn’t known how to perform a patronus charm in her fifth year.  Dumbledore meanwhile had stopped pacing, and instead rested his hands on the back of a chair in resignation.

"So Harry used magic,” he sighed, then snapped into action.

“Mad-Eye, Kingsley,” he instructed, “I want you to contact the Order, finalize the plans for Harry’s removal from Privet Drive.”  The two nodded their understanding.

“Arthur, write to Harry.  Make sure he doesn’t do any further magic, and _make sure he doesn’t leave the house_.  He will most likely have got his letter by now, so try to hurry.  I’m going to go straight to the Ministry.”  He clapped his hands together, and those with directions shook themselves and hurried from the room.  He began to leave himself, but hesitated at the last minute.

“Lily, James,” he said apologetically, “I must beg of you a little patience.  I know you have questions, but right now it is imperative I make sure there are no repercussions from Harry’s use of magic.”  As though to stress the point, he glanced briefly at a gold watch tucked inside his robes before continuing.  “The attack was in the Dursleys’ home town; we will therefore be transferring Harry here as soon as possible for his own safety.  The various security measures necessary for this to happen, however, will take at least a little while to put in place.  I’m sorry that I cannot tell you more at this moment, but trust that we will do everything we can to keep your son safe.”

And with that, he was gone, and Lily and James could only stare in horror at the retreating figures, trying to assuage the terrified bewilderment settling upon them.  Of the adults, only Sirius, Remus and Molly were left in the room with them, Bill and Charlie having left with their father, Tonks with Mad-Eye, and Mundungus having somehow managed to disappear in the chaos.

Lily had hoped at least for an explanation before everyone vanished.  Why were dementors after her son?   Why had they even been able to find him?  Why had Mundungus been there, and who was this Mrs Figg?

"W _ait_!" she tried, but the room was already nearly empty.  She turned to the others.  "What letter?  What’s happening to my son?”

“Lily,” Remus murmured, moving to the worried parents with the contrite look of one delivering bad news, "Harry using under-age magic means he will already have received a letter expelling him from Hogwarts."

Lily brought a hand to her mouth in distress, but James made only a noise of objection.

"But it was in self-defence!” he cried.  "They can't expel him just like that, they need to hear all the facts!  He should only get a warning on his first offence anyway –”

He was interrupted by a snort from Sirius.

"I'm afraid the Ministry is rather more corrupt nowadays, mate” he said, and Lily was reminded that no-one knew that better than him.

Remus was nodding.  “In any case,” he said, “Harry already had a warning at the beginning of his second year.”  He smiled slightly.  “Although, that was actually due to a rather zealous house-elf named Dobby.”  The pair looked at him questioningly, but he said only, “Ask Harry.”

Lily was beginning to lose track of all the questions she had for her son.

Molly and the children were talking amongst themselves at the kitchen table by now, in low, hushed voices that told her the discussion was about Harry.  She moved to the table herself and sat down heavily in a chair, followed soon after by James and the others.  Across the table, Hermione smiled at her hesitantly.

“I’m sure everything will work out,” the bushy-haired girl encouraged.  “Dumbledore still has a lot of influence at the ministry, even if Fudge is being a little idiotic at the moment.”  Ron scoffed.  “Okay,” she amended, “ _very_ idiotic.”

“Cornelius Fudge is the Prime Minister,” Remus explained, before they even had time to look confused.  “He’s refusing to admit that Voldemort has returned, and so isn’t the biggest fan of either Harry, who saw him, or Dumbledore, who believed him.”

“But,” Hermione continued, “I was just saying; there’s no way they can expel Harry, even if Fudge wants to.  I’m sure I’ve read somewhere about an exception in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Under-Age Sorcery permitting magic in life-threatening situations.”  She was speaking very quickly now.  “And if a dementor attack doesn’t count as a life-threatening situation then I don’t know what does.  Although,” she mused, staring thoughtfully at the table, “I suppose one could argue it isn’t _life_ -threatening, merely soul-threatening. . .  But really,” – and here she threw up her hands, as though someone had actually dared to disagree – “what’s the difference to any fair court.”

She trailed off and stared even more deeply into the grain of the table, and Lily thought she was probably continuing the monologue internally.  When it became clear that she was not going to speak again, Ron – who had been staring at her with a sort of bemused fondness – shook his head in exasperation and rested his chin in his hands.  A few seats down from Lily, Ginny had curled up in a chair with a large ginger cat and buried her face in its fur, and Molly had just sat down after pouring everyone tea, seemingly wanting to keep her hands busy if the wringing of her apron was any indicator.  The twins, having eschewed chairs entirely, were perched on the edge of the table, taking it in turns to kick the leg of Ron’s chair.

Despite their apparent preoccupation, Lily noticed all of the room’s occupants shooting furtive looks at her and her husband – except for the twins, who were staring quite blatantly.  She cleared her throat in an attempt to alleviate the tension.

"So," she fumbled, "how did you meet Harry?"  The question was directed primarily at Ron and Hermione, Harry’s self-proclaimed best friends.

Ron laughed.  "Oh, just shared a carriage on the Hogwarts Express,” he began.  “When he arrived at the station, Harry didn't know how to get on to the platform, so he asked us – of course Mum took him under her wing immediately and showed him how to get through to 9 and ¾.”

Molly smiled at the memory.  “Such a sweet little thing.”  Ron made a face at the description of his friend, Hermione smirking at his embarrassment.  “So polite.”

“Anyway,” he hastened on, “then these two,” and here he jerked a thumb at the twins, “helped him with his trunk, found out he was Harry Potter, and I . . . uh . . . _happened_ to choose his carriage.”  He coughed slightly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink.  The twins chortled.  “We became friends over shared sweets and talk of quidditch.”

James laughed and elbowed Sirius.  “Sounds familiar.”

Lily was about to ask how they had become friends with Hermione, when she picked up on something else.  “You mean you knew who Harry was?” she queried, and was surprised when every person in the room nodded.

“He’s kind of famous,” came Ginny’s voice from within the cat’s fur.

“Because Voldemort was defeated that night?” she prompted, and saw Remus nod in confirmation.

“Wow,” James said, impressed.  “My boy’s a celebrity.”  He gestured to himself.  “I should expect nothing else.”

Lily smiled at her husband’s antics. It was helping, hearing about her boy in a context other than dementor attacks and their own deaths.  This felt like the first ordinary conversation they’d been able to have since returning, and she could already feel some of the tension leaving her.

Eager to continue the discussion, but unable to find a subtler diversion to the topic she really cared about, she said abruptly: “Tell us about Harry.”

As she lowered her eyes and took a gulp of her tea, she was uncomfortably aware of the speculative – even slightly pitying – looks from around the table.  Finally, however, Sirius began speaking, lips quirked in a small smile.

"Harry is one of the bravest, kindest, purest young men I know," he stated, aware of the way in which James and Lily leant in, hanging on his every word.  "He always thinks of others before himself and never takes anything for granted.  Although,” his tone darkened, “that may be a result of those dreadful relatives he grew up with.  He is compassionate, more than a little reckless and, I think I'm safe in saying, a fiercely loyal friend."  He looked around for confirmation and the children all nodded passionately.  "He also looks precisely like you, James, but with Lily's eyes.”  He turned to the room once more.  “Have I missed anything?"

"Sheer, dumb luck" said Ron, with a half-smirk at Hermione.

"Good ideas for pranking –"

"When you can tear him away from saving the world, that is," came the twins’ response.

"Such a sweet boy," Molly repeated.

"A natural talent for Defence against the Dark arts," said Remus.

"And a temper to match his mother’s,” finished Sirius with a grin, at which Lily raised an eyebrow.

"Which you should know, having been on the end of it plenty."  Sirius gulped in feigned terror and his friends roared in laughter.

"Yes," Remus picked up the story, "in temperament, Harry is a lot like you James” – James smiled – "but he certainly has his mother's temper, when it's aroused.  He has James' loyalty, Lily's compassion, and at times I think he got James' mouth but Lily's cheek and attitude," he finished with a smirk.  "In short, all of your good points."

The Potters looked at each other in joy, filled with wonder that Harry seemingly had so many people who loved him.  From what they had heard, their son had grown into a perfect young man, and they loved their giggling toddler all the more for it.  And, as hard as it may be, Lily knew she would just have to trust these wonderful people to keep her little boy safe until she could finally see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview:
> 
> "Blimey, Padfoot," he said, running a hand along the scarlet and gold banner hanging above the bed, "you really do have a death wish. You've gone out of your way to annoy your folks.” James flashed him a grin. "I'd expect nothing less, of course."  
> He came to a halt in front of the wardrobe door, on which teen Sirius had pinned a static muggle poster showing a mostly-nude woman posing on a large motorbike.  
> "Got to question your taste though" he said, smirking. Sirius responded with mock-indignation.  
> "I don't know what you are talking about," he said. "I'm perfectly entitled to have innocent pictures of motorbikes on my bedroom wall."


	5. Padfoot and Prongs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, this chapter doesn't exactly advance the plot in any way - I just had too much fun playing with my two favourite boys. Hope you enjoy this little slice of James and Sirius nonetheless.

James hurried through the narrow corridors of no. 12 Grimmauld Place, and wound his way quickly up the dark stairs.  Everything was quiet now, the rush of feet that had been pattering through the many stories having finally settled.  Sirius, Remus and Molly had all left the kitchen a little while ago, hoping to find out what was going on and how they might help.  He and Lily, knowing there was nothing they could do for the moment, had kept themselves occupied in the kitchen – talking, pacing – until James could stand it no longer.

He knew so little about his boy and all he had been through; this dementor attack was only the latest in the series of worrying hints and titbits they had been told of Harry’s life so far.  Growing up with the Dursleys; under-age magic; _whatever_ had happened at the end of last year.

It sounded as though Harry had a tale or two to share.

This house certainly told a few, albeit of a different protagonist.  As he made his way towards the top floor, James was struck by just how much of Sirius’ history he could feel in the slanting walls and gloomy, twisting staircase.  It was unnerving – and privileged – to finally be given such an insight into the small boy he had met on the train so many years ago.

_The boy in the compartment was about James’ age, and was lounging at such ease against the window James wondered briefly whether this wasn’t a private cabin.  He almost kept walking, but the boy looked so excited to see someone his own age that he immediately slid open the door and stepped inside._

_The new boy was slightly stockier than he was and already developing handsome looks, his dark hair curtaining the high-cheekboned face with an elegance James' own could never hope to achieve.  His lips had a natural smirk to them – though not, James decided, an arrogant look; simply one that said he knew who he was and was pleased with himself that way._

It was true that many people considered Sirius arrogant.  In some senses, James supposed, it was true; he had certainly always thought himself to be handsome, known himself to be clever.  But those few who knew Sirius well enough understood the demeanour that most called arrogance to actually be a sort of defensive independence.  Growing up as he did, he had simply learnt to neither expect, nor need, others to like him, and built his barriers accordingly.  It was only once it was made clear to him that he _was_ liked, that the Sirius behind the barrier might become visible.

Sirius was rash, quick to grow bored, and often immature.  He liked a laugh as much as any of the marauders (possibly more so than Remus and Peter), but had been known to take practical jokes too far.  He also had a sullen side, sometimes withdrawing into himself when he thought no-one would notice, becoming moody for no reason.  He often took things too hard, and could hold a grudge indefinitely.  He was also fiercely loyal to his friends, and incredibly defensive of anything that threatened that friendship.

But this was a mere snapshot of his friend’s life, and without understanding Sirius' childhood James knew that none of his actions could ever really make sense.  Most of what he had gleaned of that period, however, had been from throwaway comments and the occasional late-night conversation.

_"Hey," the boy said, offering a lopsided grin as James sat down in the seat opposite him._

_"Hey," James replied, gazing curiously at the stranger.  He stuck out his hand.  "I'm James Potter.  Yes," he joked, "one of the Potters."_

_"Never heard of them" the boy smirked, grasping the hand.  "Sirius Black.  One of the Blacks."  James grinned as his own joke was thrown in his face, until the boy added, "Unfortunately."_

Remus had always been the one most able to empathise with Sirius.  Although loved very much by both his parents, his childhood had been marred by his ‘furry little problem’, and his family had never been well-off financially.  He was used to being shunted to the side, being second-best.

James, on the other hand, had had a perfect childhood: the best of everything, wonderful parents, and the knowledge that he was surrounded by people who loved – no,  _adored_  – him.  But he could sympathize, even if he could not empathize, and he knew Sirius so well he was at times the only one to truly understood what he needed.  When he was best left alone, when someone should comfort him, when he wanted someone to laugh with; when he needed, simply, to be reminded of how much he was loved.

Portentously enough, James thought, Peter never did have that bond.  Sirius had even joked once he had the social skills of a flobberworm.  Although he meant well, Peter never knew what to do, or say, to help his friends, but merely stood on the side offering petty condolences.  No-one had ever begrudged him this, and Sirius had certainly never blamed him, but James wondered whether even back then his friend didn't love them quite as much as they loved him.

When it came to Sirius' childhood, Grimmauld Place was like a pensieve, dripping with memories of long ago, and James was both upset and morbidly fascinated by this new understanding of his friend’s origins.  He could see in his mind’s eye a young Sirius, creeping down the hall to avoid waking anything or running from the macabre row of beheaded elves, and tried to match that boy to the one on the train.

_By the time the Hogwarts Express had entered the countryside, and the greens and browns of the hills had blurred and run across the window, the two boys were deep in conversation about their hopes for the coming year._

_“The castle!” James was exclaiming.  “There's supposed to be secret passageways around every corner, and moving staircases, and hidden rooms . . . I want to discover it all!"  Sirius nodded enthusiastically, and took up James' spiel._

_"And suits of armour that move – and ghosts!  You ever actually seen a ghost?"_

_"Well," James contemplated.  "There's supposed to be the ghost of my great-great-great-something-or-other Grandfather haunting the Potter mansion, but he keeps himself to himself.  I'd like to think I've seen him a few times – especially after all the time I spent searching for him – but nothing conclusive.  How about you?  Surely the Black manor's swarming with ghosts?"  The boy shook his head._

_"We don't live in the Black Mansion any more, we've got a large town house in London.  We still have to visit the estate at Christmas and stuff, but my cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa live there most of the time.  Anyway, no dead relatives of ours would ever like Mother enough to stick around.  Sure, the house elves love her – and Dad, and Reg for that matter – but I personally think they're mental."_

James made the last turn in the stairs and shook himself of the sombre thoughts.  If he was this deep in memory after such a short time in the house, then being trapped here for so long must be hell for Sirius; fourteen years couldn’t have so changed the man that James didn’t know that much.

As he reached the top he was faced with two doors, one marked with a pompous little sign declaring it the room of 'Regulus Arcturus Black', and the other with a sign stating very clearly that the room belonged to Sirius Black, with a footnote declaring the resident's love for Gryffindor.

James grinned, and pushed open the door.

* * *

Sirius sat at his desk, staring blankly at one of the many items fastened to his bedroom wall.  It was approaching twenty minutes since he had last moved, all his energy occupied in battling the urge to leave Grimmauld Place and run straight to Privet Drive.

Arthur had told him that Harry had indeed received a letter expelling from Hogwarts.  The kid must be going crazy.

He had written Harry a letter – a hurried, meaningless little note offering none of the emotion he wanted to put into words.  None of the worry, or anger, or the guilt that he had been hiding safely here whilst his godson had been fighting for his life – his  _soul_  – against dementors.

_Don’t leave the house again, whatever you do._

Sirius had not failed to grasp the irony of the instruction.  That whilst he himself hated staying inside for his own safety, he was asking his godson to do the same thing.

But a dementor attack. . . That was one hell of an extenuating circumstance.

He gave an involuntary shudder at memories of icy nights and scabby hands outside cell doors.  For twelve years the creatures had tormented him with visions of his best friends’ deaths, and now that he had finally had that family returned to him they had tried to take his godson – one of the few people to have given his life purpose after Azkaban – from him instead.  Perhaps they would never let him be.

Still.  Tense and anxious as he may be, nothing could quite subdue the warmth in which he had been basking since reuniting with James and Lily.  It was quite possible nothing ever would.

He inhaled deeply.  His brain had not yet truly come to terms with the impossibility he had just witnessed; that James and Lily were not only back, but had _returned from the dead_.  The rational side of him was still whispering that it might be too good to be true, but his heart had accepted it without question.  Just seeing them again, hearing them talk, had felt so _right_ it already felt as though they had never left.

There was a knock at the door.

"It's open," he called, dragging his gaze from the photograph it had been fixed upon.  He was greeted by a tangle of black hair, followed by James Potter's trademark casual grin.  The warmth in his belly blossomed into sunlight.

"Hey mate," James said, shutting the door carefully behind him.  There was silence for a moment as the two regarded each other, as though unsure where they stood after so many years.  Sirius almost laughed at how desperately he wanted to give his friend a poke, to check again that he was solid and not some sort of apparition.

"You okay?" he asked, more to break the nervous tension than anything.  James nodded and shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah.  Got a bit tired of waiting downstairs.”  Sirius understood.  Like himself, James had never been one to sit around when something was happening; it was one reason they had decided to help Remus back in their school years.  Both, however, knew that the best thing they could do for Harry right now was to be patient and let Dumbledore resolve the issue.

James circled the room, admiring the many decorations Sirius had stuck upon the walls as a child.  The decor could only be described as  _audacious_.  As a boy, Sirius had had done everything he could to antagonize his Slytherin family.

"Blimey, Padfoot," he said, running a hand along the scarlet and gold banner hanging above the bed, "you really do have a death wish.  You've gone out of your way to annoy your folks.”   James flashed him a grin.  "I'd expect nothing less, of course."

He came to a halt in front of the wardrobe door, on which teen Sirius had pinned a static muggle poster showing a mostly-nude woman posing on a large motorbike.

"Got to question your taste though" he said, smirking.  Sirius responded with mock-indignation.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he said.  "I'm perfectly entitled to have innocent pictures of motorbikes on my bedroom wall."

"It was the motorbike I was referring to.”  James winked shamelessly.  "I don't see anything wrong with the woman."  He chuckled as Sirius shook his head in disapproval.

"Merlin’s beard, Jimmy-boy.  You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

“I kiss your mother with this mouth” came the reply from deep within Sirius’s wardrobe, into which James had ventured at the sight of a Quidditch poster.

* * *

James extricated himself from the wardrobe and made his way over to the desk at which Sirius was sat.  There was a photograph on the wall behind him – the only that James could see – at which Sirius seemed to have been staring when he came in.  He bent down for a closer look, Sirius sliding back and out of his way, and realised that he recognised it.

Four boys in school uniform were stood together in the Hogwarts grounds, smiling and waving at the photographer.  It had been a beautiful day, and the sunlight captured by the camera fell across the boys’ laughing faces and silhouetted them slightly against the glittering lake behind.  James himself was stood in the centre, young and care-free.  To his left, uniform familiarly shabby and ever-present tiredness on his face, was Remus, although at that moment the young boy looked as relaxed as James ever remembered seeing him, and the delight on his face overshadowed its weariness.  James remembered with a twinge of his heart how he used to love seeing his friend wear that expression, especially when he knew he was partly to credit.  The Remus he had met today looked as though he hadn’t smiled like that in fourteen years; longer, even, because James knew first-hand how trying those years initial years after Hogwarts had been.  Even his apparent euphoria at the Potters’ return had been unable to fully clear the downtrodden and so completely exhausted look that blunted the werewolf’s eyes.

On James’ other side – leg cocked casually, elbow resting on James’ shoulder – was Sirius, confident grin leaning just slightly towards a smirk, as it always had in those days.  James used to know every one of those smiles, had unconsciously catalogued them in his head.  Arrogant smirks, mischievous smirks, the smirk he wore when taunting Snape or when he got defensive.  The charming smile he used to get out of trouble, the immediate grin when one of his friends amused him.  The canine laughter, always coming out in snorts or barks or uncontrollable howls.  And then there was what James had privately christened his ‘Marauder smile’, because it only ever appeared after a full-moon out in the grounds with Remus.  It was his carnal smile – nigh-unshakeable in the first few moments after returning to human form – when they were still high from the adrenaline of the night, and his eyes were still slightly feral and his grin showed just a few too many teeth.  He had yet to see any of these expressions from the grim-faced man before him, whose face seemed stiffer and out of practice.  Perhaps he’d have to start a new catalogue for frowns.

He finally dragged his gaze to the other side of the photograph to where Peter stood, small and mouse-like, even in human form.  Peter always had been the slightly sore thumb, more nervous, more timid than his peers.  But James had always thought that difference was what made them so strong; Peter’s odd-ball nature was a part of the group, as much as Remus’ quiet intelligence or Sirius’ spontaneity.  He had never for a moment thought Peter might have _felt_ as out of place as some thought he looked.  Was that their fault, he wondered?  Could he have done more, to let Peter know he belonged, he was loved?  Perhaps he had only been fooled by the contentment on picture-Peter’s face, the smile that said _Don’t worry, I’m happy.  I won’t betray you_.

He sighed, and glanced across to see Sirius watching him with thoughtfully.

“It’s tricky, isn’t it?” his friend said, rubbing the stubble on his chin and moving over to see the picture once more.  “Trying to rationalise that Peter with one who could ever betray us.”

James nodded and dropped heavily to the end of the bed.  Sirius brought the chair around and looked at him intensely.

“Moony and I have had a lot of time to think about it,” he explained, “and we reckon it probably all started to go wrong final year.”  His voice was heavy.  “You probably don’t realise it, but once you and Lily finally sorted yourselves out you started to spend a lot less time with us – perfectly natural of course,” he hastened, as James’ face dropped.  “And none of us begrudged you for it.  But nonetheless, it marked the first real change in dynamic we’d had since finding out about Moony.”

Sirius leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head.  “Then there were NEWTS, which you know Peter didn’t do quite as well in as he’d hoped, and suddenly it was all over; Hogwarts had finished, and instead of having time to re-assess and find our footing in adult life, we all immediately joined the war effort.

“That’s the other thing” he continued.  “Peter only joined the Order because of us.  I’m not saying that even then he was on the other side, but you know he never felt as strongly as the rest of us.  He fought because we did, probably afraid of breaking the group up, and hoping that the four of us against Voldemort wouldn’t feel so different from the four of us against Filch.”

James mulled it over.  Peter _had_ been even more dependent than usual in that first year after Hogwarts, excessively upset by any cancelled plans and always the most unwilling to go on missions without the others.

“But it was different,” Sirius went on.  “We got sent on different assignments, bought our own places, you and Lily began a family of your own.  You can’t deny we were drifting apart – not in friendship, but at least in the amount of time we spent together.”

“So suddenly, Peter was fighting a war he had never truly cared about, for people he didn’t see that often, watching you move on with his life and wondering what had happened to his own.  But –” and here Sirius turned to James, face suddenly angry.  “That’s the point I can’t see past.”

He shook his head in agitation, long hair tossing from side to side.

“I can’t see how someone goes from feeling a little low and abandoned, to murdering his friends.  I just don’t get it.  I can only guess – or, I suppose, _hope_ – that Peter was approached by someone and felt threatened, because if he was the one who sought out You-Know-Who –”  James worried for a moment that his friend was going to punch something, but instead he only finished lamely: “– I just don’t get it.”

Sirius’ eyes had grown misty, and James stretched back along the bed to give him a moment alone, focussing his attention on the dusty chandelier above his head.  He thought over what Sirius had said.  He had known that Peter was less happy those last few months; it was why he and Lily had tried to invite him over more, get him more involved with Harry, and had generally done what they could to cheer him up.  But Peter had turned down a few of their invitations, and James thought the damage must already have been done.  He had noticed too late that his friend was suffering, and it had got himself and his wife killed.

“I must say, Padfoot” he said, still scrutinizing the chandelier, though perhaps now to hide his own distress, “I’m impressed by how rational that all was.”  He heard a grunt of amusement from the desk.

“Well, if I’m honest, that was mostly Remus.  We’ve talked it over a lot since I got out.  I spent most of the twelve years thinking of ways to find and kill the rat, but you know Moony; as soon as he found out I wasn’t the secret keeper after all he was busy unravelling everything and actually trying to figure out what went wrong.”  James pushed himself onto an elbow to see his friend, curious that he could sound so indifferent when talking about his time inside.  Sirius saw the look.

“Relax,” he said wryly, “I’m not about to have a breakdown on you.”

They were silent once more, and James was suddenly desperate to change the subject.

“Have you got any clothes?” he said abruptly, remembering something Lily had mentioned before he came upstairs.  “That we can borrow, I mean.  This,” he said, sitting up and gesturing to the dress robes, “is all we have.”  He noticed Sirius eyeing the robes with distaste.  Funeral clothes.

“Sure,” he said, standing and heading back to the muggle girl and the wardrobe.  “We should be able to find you something.”

* * *

When James made to leave a little while later, it was with an armful of clothes and a heart lighter than he had known since they had woken up.  Once the mood had brightened, he and Sirius had spent a happy half-hour looking through his wardrobe and discussing old memories.  At one point, Sirius had even laughed.

He struggled with the door handle for a minute, trying to pry it open with the few fingers free of robes because he couldn’t reach his wand.  He could feel Sirius’ amusement radiating from behind him.

“See you later, mate” he called when he finally made it through the door.  And as he turned to close it behind him, he saw Sirius smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peview:
> 
> Harry Potter was slumped against his bedroom window, watching raindrops slide sluggishly down the glass. Had he the effort to glance at the clock, he would see he had been doing so for nearly forty minutes. Instead, however, his gaze was focused upon one particular raindrop, which had stubbornly clung to its place on the window for nearly as long as he had. Harry wondered bitterly whether it too was waiting on word from Dumbledore.
> 
> It had been around fourteen hours since he was attacked by Dementors, in which time he had received exactly four letters, one howler, and zero reassurance that things were going to be okay.
> 
>  
> 
> (Please review)


	6. Homecoming

Lily awoke late the next morning, surprisingly well-rested despite the previous night’s drama.

Whilst James had been with Sirius, Molly was giving her a tour of the house, preparing them a room and attempting to catch her up on all they had missed.  The kindly woman had promised Lily her backlog of _Witch Weekly_ , along with any old _Daily Prophet_ s she could find, and had delighted her with tales of Arthur’s exploits at the ministry and the children’s various successes at school.

The bedroom she had given them was of a reasonable size, with a large double bed, pair of antique chairs and very worn carpet.  Officially declared safe by Mad-Eye just last week, it felt no more welcoming for it; everything from the furniture to the walls was dark – dark reds, dark purples, dark browns – and the curtains were so heavy that, when closed, the room slipped into near total blackness.  Molly had done what she could, however, to remove the cobwebs, and Lily had cast a few charms herself to brighten the wallpaper and thin the drapes.  At the very least the bed was comfortable, and the room offered a nice retreat from the jumble of newness and uncertainty downstairs.

They had received no word from Dumbledore since he left for the ministry last night, and only the promise of news in the morning had finally persuaded them to leave their vigil and get some rest.  Now, her stomach squirmed at the thought of what that news might be.

Beside her head, the bedside clock warned day was fast slipping away.

To her right, a familiar tangle of black hair was peeking above the covers, the face below endearingly relaxed – and _distinctly_ _un-dead_ – as it snored gently into the pillow.  She stretched and scraped her own hair back from her face, fanning the grimy locks across the pillow behind her.  She _needed_ a shower.

Adjoining their room was a very tall and narrow bathroom, which – cold marble floor and sinister, serpentine pipes aside – was comfortably equipped with a shower and large bath, magically extended beyond what the four walls should hold.  Desperate to scour herself of the past fourteen years, she filled the tub to the brim and melted into the hot water, welcoming its power to unknot her muscles and settle her spirits.  She rubbed her skin raw in an attempt to purge the coffin-stench, and emerged a new woman to the sounds of her husband arising.

“Morning,” he called, as she eventually vacated the bathroom.  He moved from the pile of clothes he had been hunched over to give her a light kiss.  “How did you sleep?”

She grimaced, a little guiltily.

“Surprisingly well, considering.”  Surely no self-respecting parent should sleep so soundly with a child in trouble.

“Me too,” James admitted.  “Damn that feathery monstrosity of a bed.

“These are for you,” he announced, gesturing to the heap of material he had been examining and shuffling a selection of colourful items in her direction.   “They’re Molly’s; she apologises there isn’t anything more your size.”  He pulled some items from his own half of the pile, a miscellany of frilled shirts and velvet waistcoats.  “Sirius wanted to give you some of his mother’s old clothes,” he laughed, “but I thought the floor-length black dress and goblin-skin coat might not be quite your style.”

“I don’t know,” Lily said absent-mindedly, inspecting one of Molly’s dresses.  “I think I could make it work.”

She heard James’ chuckle as he moved into the bathroom, a few items of his own tucked beneath his arm.  As the sounds of the shower drifted through the door, she tugged the first dress over her head.  It really was quite big.  No matter how she tied the sash it was impossible to stop the fabric gaping in odd, unflattering places.  She wondered briefly whether she should also borrow some of Sirius’ clothes.

The sight of her husband returning a few minutes later rapidly changed her mind.  He struck a pose in the doorway, arms outstretched as if to say ‘ _What do you think?’_ , and she couldn’t help but giggle.  The clothes were distinctly moth-eaten, and patches of the once plush, green waistcoat had turned grey and scratchy.  The trousers were a thing of historical perplexity, which would no doubt have seemed out of place no matter what decade of the last century they found themselves in.  It was a testament to Sirius’ confidence and natural elegance that she had never before noticed how truly bizarre his wardrobe was.

 _“Merlin’s beard_ ,” exclaimed Remus’ voice behind them.  Their friend stepped into the room and stopped short to survey the odd couple: Lily, drowning in her outfit, and James, stiff and uncomfortable in his.  “Do you want to alert the fashion aurors, or should I?”

“Ha-de-ha-ha,” Lily replied dryly.  James swanned across to the full-length mirror, ignoring its disgusted yelp.

“What are you talking about?” he said, twisting to examine himself from other, equally as unsightly, angles.  “I am definitely pulling this off.”

_(“Don’t kid yourself, darling”, came the mirror’s reply.)_

Lily was about to make some retort of her own, when her husband suddenly stopped his turning and leapt closer to the reflection, staring intently at his own face.  She watched, perplexed, as he began stretching his skin with his hands, searching through his hair, craning his neck.

“Lily,” he said eventually, eyes glued to the mirror.  “I’m _old_.”

Lily moved to the mirror and inspected her husband properly for the first time since King’s Cross.  He was right, he did look older: a little fuller in the face, a little more creased around the eyes, perhaps even – though she daren’t mention it – the tiniest speck of grey in his jet hair.  Stepping into the mirror’s frame, she saw similar changes in her own face (although there was no grey in _her_ hair, thank you very much).  Her skin was certainly rougher, more weathered, and her forehead was scored by two ever-so-slight lines.

“Weird,” she murmured.

Remus’s own matured face appeared between theirs, and an arm draped across each of their shoulders.

“Welcome to the club,” he said wryly.  He eyed their reflection with interest.  “It is interesting, though.  Even had you not aged a day, I suppose these couldn’t be the same bodies you had when –” he faltered only briefly, encouraged by Lily’s nodding and his own curiosity, “– well, after Halloween.”

He didn’t elaborate, but both grasped his meaning.  The couple had awoken in a grave, after all, in which they had spent the better part of fourteen years; they should not be looking so fresh.

“In which case,” he continued, and James finally tore his attention from the mirror, “perhaps your souls returned to your bodies with some imprint of that other life, reverting your forms to how they would look had the event never occurred.”  He shrugged and finished humbly, “You’ll have to ask Albus.”

Lily had fixed him with her famous Evans stare.

“Remus,” she said slowly, “are you trying to tell me I’m thirty-five?”  Their friend grimaced.

“I’m afraid it would appear so.”

James groaned in dismay, and Lily looked dejectedly back at the mirror.  Things did keep getting stranger.

“You know,” began Remus, sensing her discomfort, “I didn’t just come to insult your new outfits – although,” and here he looked them up and down once more in amusement, “I think they do that themselves.”

 _(“Damn right,”_ said the mirror.) 

“I actually came to say Dumbledore has cleared things with the ministry, to a certain extent.  The DMLE has agreed not to expel Harry for now, pending the outcome of a disciplinary hearing.”

Two sighs of relief; some of the weight lifted from Lily’s shoulders.

“Plans for his transport from Privet Drive are also underway” Remus continued, smiling.  “Albus had hoped to wait for a few more aurors to be available, but given the circumstance we persuaded him speed should be the main priority.”  He clasped each of their shoulders.  “Harry should be here by tomorrow.”

Thirty-five or not, Lily’s face split into a wide smile, and she seemed suddenly as happy and youthful as on her wedding day.  She squeezed the werewolf’s arm.

“Thank you, Remus.”

* * *

Thirty miles away, in a small house in Surrey, sat a fifteen-year-old boy who was not so happy.

Harry Potter was slumped against his bedroom window, watching raindrops slide sluggishly down the glass.  Had he the effort to glance at the clock, he would see he had been doing so for nearly forty minutes.  Instead, however, his gaze was focused upon one particular raindrop, which had stubbornly clung to its place on the window for nearly as long as he had.  Harry wondered bitterly whether it too was waiting on word from Dumbledore.

It had been around fourteen hours since he was attacked by Dementors, in which time he had received exactly four letters, one howler, and zero reassurance that things were going to be okay.  He had not even received responses to the hasty notes penned to Ron, Hermione and Sirius.

His only solace was that he was not, of yet, expelled from Hogwarts.  The thought alone was enough to make him shudder.  Without Hogwarts he had nothing: no family; no friends, since they would surely forget him once he were no longer their classmate; no home, since there was no way he could stay with the Dursleys knowing summer’s end brought no escape.

He supposed he could join Sirius as an outcast.  The idea was of marginal comfort, but truthfully his godfather could be anywhere in the world and Harry had no way of joining him.

More raindrops overtook his stationary one.

A sharp rap on the door had Harry straightening in surprise, back cracking in protest at the sudden movement.  His heart jolted in anticipation, but the opening of the door revealed no long, white beard – just an oversized moustache.

“What do you want?” Harry intoned, as the rest of his uncle’s large form traipsed in.  He stopped just inside the door with a nervous glance to the scattering of spell books and magical objects across the floor.  If the narrowing of his eyes was a response to Harry’s insolent tone, Vernon Dursley wisely chose not to comment.

“We’re heading out” he said brusquely.  “You are not to leave this room.  There’ll be no ‘funny business’ while we’re gone.”

Harry said nothing.

“I’m locking the door,” the older man continued, clearly uncomfortable with the lack of reaction.  “We might not be back for a few days.”

Harry stared blankly at his uncle, and tried to decide whether he should care.  Then he remembered he didn’t.

“Okay,” he said finally.

Vernon nodded and hesitated a second longer, as though wanting his nephew to ask where they were going.  When Harry didn’t, he nodded again and made his way out of the door.

Before it could close, the moustache appeared once more.

“We’re going to a garden competition,” Vernon said gruffly.  “We won.”

The door clicked shut and Harry heard the lock twisting, followed by the sound of voices making their way out to the drive.  Turning back to the window, he watched his only living relatives drive away, and felt the silence of total solitude settle across the house.

When his gaze focused back on the glass, his raindrop had slipped away.

* * *

Lily and James spent the day like a pair of skittish horses, too filled with nervous energy to observe one activity for any length of time.  They listened to the adults discuss current affairs, played games of exploding snap with the children and explored the hidden corners of the old townhouse, all with one eye on the clock.  By the time evening finally deigned to show its face, Arthur must have answered a hundred questions about Harry’s travel plans, and Molly had made twice that many cups of tea.

The couple’s impatience was infectious, and as Remus left Grimmauld Place that night he too was brimming with anxious excitement at the thought of the coming night.  In mere hours, Harry Potter would finally meet the parents he had lost so many years ago, in a reunion as nerve-wracking as it was miraculous.  The fifteen-year-old had been through more than most, but how he would react to a bombshell such as this, Remus had no idea.

He stepped into the shadows beyond the wards of the house, and apparated to the spot Dumbledore had shown them at the beginning of the summer.  It was a still night, and the crack of his arrival ricocheted effortlessly between the small houses of Little Whinging, sending a startled cat yelping from one hedge to another.  In the quiet that followed, Remus made his way to the huddle of cloaked figures on the other side of the street.

“Nice night for it” a voice was whispering as he approached.

“Not much cloud-cover,” responded a gruffer voice.  “Evening, Remus.”

“Evening, Alastor.”

Remus smiled nervously at the faces peering out of the darkness, each figure hooded and clutching a broomstick.  Of the six present, only Moody, Tonks and himself knew what awaited Harry back at Grimmauld Place.  The other three – Emmeline Vance, Dedalus Diggle, and the young Elara Blackburn – knew nothing of the incident that had shaken the wizarding community barely twenty-four hours earlier.  It seemed impossible that the rest of the world could be so oblivious, when for him gravity itself had shifted.

At Moody’s direction, the group made its way through the silent suburban streets, slipping from shadow to shadow until they reached Privet Drive.  The Dursleys’ house was small and desolate in its pocket at the end of the street, eyeing the group with its darkened windows as though daring them to approach.  Remus could discern no movement within the black of what he assumed to be Harry’s room, if the broken bars that framed it were anything to go by.  Beside the perfect lawn, the drive was empty.

“Looks like the family took the bait,” he whispered, nudging Tonks with a bashful smile.  “Good work.”

With a murmured charm from its leader, the procession stole through the front door and creaked its way into the hall, dull thud of Moody’s artificial leg the only sound in the house.

“Everyone ready?”  Moody grunted as the last of the group traipsed in, Remus deftly catching the vase Tonks had collided with.  Her apologies were lost amongst various murmurs of assent, and all eyes turned to the door at the top of the stairs.

Moody raised his wand, and the latch slowly began to turn.

* * *

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.’_

Harry glanced up from what he identified as Dumbledore’s slanted scrawl to find Moody’s disfigured face, inches from his own.  The magical eye was performing a dizzying acrobatic display, flipping one way and another in reconnaissance of the darkened square around them; the other was watching Harry closely.

“Got it, lad?”

“Er, yes –” Harry stammered, watching in bemusement as the note was tugged from his hands and hastily set alight.  The sudden flash of fire flickered between the seven huddled figures, stretching shadows across the hooded faces and dancing in the expectant eyes.  Harry turned to Remus.

“What’s the Order of the –”

“Not now, Harry” the werewolf said firmly, though not without a touch of sympathy.  It was the same response with which he had shut down Harry’s first flurry of questions, in the Dursley’s kitchen.

_‘Not now, Harry.  I promise we’ll give you all the answers we can once we reach headquarters – plus quite a few more questions, I imagine…’_

This last comment was part of a stream of cryptic remarks, enigmatic smiles and odd glances that had been thrown his way since the group first clattered into No. 4.  Remus was the worst, beaming at Harry when he thought he wasn’t looking, eyes an odd mixture of pride and protectiveness that Harry hadn’t seen since their patronus lessons two years previously.  Tonks, meanwhile, looked for all the world as though she were escorting him to a surprise birthday party, and had forgotten to tell her face it was a secret.  Harry had warmed quickly to the young witch, helped by her steady complaints about the unnatural tidiness of Petunia Dursley’s home, but the smug grin was starting to grate on him; he didn’t like feeling out of the loop.

Neither had he forgotten his anger towards those who had kept him in the dark all summer.  Thus far, his bewilderment and the promise inherent in Lupin’s _‘Not now, Harry’_ had been enough to keep him from lashing out at his unsuspecting guards, but he wasn’t famed for his patience.

The sight of number 12 trundling into view temporarily displaced all thoughts of odd smiles and surprise parties, and he stared gobsmacked until the final bricks of the gaunt house forced themselves into place.  He had spent four years in the wizarding world, yet magic still found ways to surprise him.

He regarded the front door suspiciously as they made their approach.  It marked the last barrier between him and the answers he so craved, yet itself gave nothing away about the headquarters behind.

 _Not now, Harry_ , mocked its shabby paintjob and silver knocker.

“Make sure you’re quiet when we go in,” Remus said, perhaps forestalling the rush of questions he knew to expect from Harry.  “At least until we’re out of the hall.”

At the touch of his wand, the door creaked aside, and Harry took his first steps into No. 12, Grimmauld Place.

There was light in the lanterns on the walls, but their efforts were feeble against the darkness of the hallway.  Harry gazed around at what he could see – narrow flight of stairs, grimy portraits, velvet curtains – and wondered what on earth they were doing here.  Before he could ask ( _yes,_ now _Remus_ ), there was a soft cry from the top of the stairs and the fast patter of feet descending towards him.

“Harry!”

Before he could formulate a response, his mouth was full of bushy hair and a girl’s tight arms were squeezing the breath from him.

“You’re here!” Hermione whispered.

"So it would seem,” he whispered back.  Something about their hushed voices and the darkness of the hall made his throat tighten, and had him clutching her more desperately than he would have liked to admit.  In his weeks of pent-up anger, he had lost sight of how much he was missing his friend.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exhaled.  “We’ve missed you so much.  I’m so sorry about all the letters over summer, I know it must have been really frustrating, but Dumbledore said –”

Mad-Eye cleared his throat.

“Touching as this is,” he grumbled, “perhaps we could stop standing around like flobberworms and head downstairs?”

“Mad-Eye, you old romantic” whispered Tonks, breezing past them towards a door at the end of the hall.

Harry eyed Hermione.  Her words had brought back all his feelings of frustration and isolation, and he wanted to tell her she _should_ be sorry, to say everything he’d been thinking all summer right there in the grim hallway and _make_ her tell him what had been going on –

But the others were still waiting, and the hallway was still quiet, and Hermione looked so near to tears that he decided it could wait.

“This way, Harry” Remus said, gesturing after Tonks.  “Everyone’s dying to see you.”

* * *

“Tonks,” Sirius teased, as the young witch bounded through the kitchen door alone, “you were supposed to bring Harry back with you.”

It had been a couple of hours since Remus and the Advance Guard had left to collect Harry, and the atmosphere in the kitchen was near breaking point.  Though voices remained light and conversation uninterrupted by the sounds of footsteps in the hallway above, there was an undeniable tension in the air, and in the inability of those present to keep their eyes from the door.

Sirius himself had long since conceded his conversation with Bill, thoughts too occupied by his godson and the events to come.  The plan was simple – in theory.  Since Dumbledore’s intention to distance himself from Harry had been unswayed by the new circumstances, he and Remus would be the ones to take the boy aside and explain that _oh by the way, your parents have returned from the dead_.  Lily and James were to remain hidden until Harry said he was ready, though Sirius doubted how long he could keep them away should the boy decide he needed time.  The couple were no doubt already tearing at the walls of the bedroom they had confined themselves to, knowing their son was mere feet below.

The thought seemed to have occurred to Arthur, who quietly excused himself from the table and made for the door, exchanging a meaningful glance with Sirius.

Tonks, meanwhile, had clapped a hand to her forehead.

“ _Dungbombs,_ I knew there was something I’d forgotten!”  She grinned at the impatient faces.  “Relax, he’s just coming.”

 As if on cue, the door opened again and there was Harry, looking overwhelmed but otherwise healthy.  He gave a bashful wave.

“Hi…”

There was a general cry of greeting, and Harry was soon the centre of much hugging and hand-shaking.  Ron clapped his friend on the back before pulling him into an embrace, and if the hug Harry returned was a little stiff, his smile was at least genuine.  Sirius waited until the commotion had died down and Molly had finished her matronly fussing, before stepping forwards.  The fifteen-year-old was clearly unsettled by the appearance of so many familiar faces in such an odd setting, but his eyes cleared when they landed on his godfather.

“Sirius!” he cried in delight, “I didn’t expect you to be here!”

Sirius chuckled darkly as he clasped him into a bone-crunching hug, relishing the feeling of Harry finally here and safe.  “It’s my house, mate.”

He waved away Harry’s query, meeting Remus’ eye above the boy’s head and knowing it was time.

“I know you probably have a lot of questions,” he began, and a hush settled over the kitchen.  He clasped Harry’s shoulder and steered him towards the door, away from the intense stares.  “Come with us and I promise we’ll explain everything.”

Harry certainly did have a lot of questions.  He and Remus did their best to answer them as they led him up the stairs – what was this place, what was the Order of the Phoenix, why had there been nothing in the _Prophet_ about Voldemort – but by the time they were settled into a suitable room he was clearly still frustrated by the lack of answers.

“But what has Voldemort been _doing_?”

Sirius fumbled for a response, but mercifully Remus decided enough was enough.

“Harry, there isn’t a lot more we can tell you right now,” he apologised.  “Some of the answers you want, we do not know.  Some, you are too young to _need_ to know –”

“But –” Harry objected, but Remus cut him off.

“But most importantly,” he continued, nervous edge creeping into his otherwise authoritative voice, “there is something else we must tell you first, and once you know what we do I’m sure you’ll agree it deserves priority.”

Sirius sat fidgeting as Remus attempted to set the groundwork: explaining that their news would seem impossible, but Harry should know they would never lie to him; that a miracle had happened, but he should prepare himself or would no doubt be overwhelmed; that they were overjoyed at what had happened, but his needs remained their primary concern.  By the time he paused for breath, even Sirius was losing track of what it was they were supposed to be saying.  He took pity on the baffled boy in front of them.

“We’re talking about your parents,” he said softly, heart jolting as his godson’s face jerked upwards.  He took a deep breath.

“Harry, your parents... Lily and James – they’re alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview:
> 
> 'Your parents really are alive, Harry.'
> 
> Harry allowed himself to understand the sentence for the first time, and hope – tiny and fluttering – buzzed up and down his oesophagus. A million furtive dreams, carefully cultivated throughout a childhood of what-ifs, finally found root and blossomed in his mind. Conversations with his mother. Flying with his father. Lily teasing him, teaching him, hugging him. James ruffling his hair, giving him the last chocolate frog, telling him how proud he is. Fanciful creations that had never had even a chance of coming true, but perhaps now were tinged just the tiniest shade of possible. And Harry liked the colour; he really liked it.


	7. Chapter 7: Family Time

“Harry, your parents… Lily and James – they’re alive.”

Sirius’ words, almost comical in their theatrical delivery, throbbed in the stillness of the room, until eventually succumbing to the silence that had swiftly descended upon its three occupants.  The two men seemed to be holding their breath, Harry the unwavering focus of their intense, cautious gazes.

Harry blinked in confusion.

He understood the sentence – all the individual words, and their meaning combined.  But he could not fathom why Sirius had said it.

His companions were evidently awaiting a response, yet Harry could not for the life of him think what he was expected to say.  Unable to bear the pregnant silence a second longer, he opted for an inarticulate:

“Huh?”

There was a shared glance, and Sirius spoke again.

“Your  _parents_ , Harry.”  He cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “Dumbledore detected a large energy surge at their grave –”

“What’s happened to their grave?” Harry said sharply.  Though he himself had never visited, the thought of anything disturbing Lily and James’ final resting place was enough to set unease squirming within his stomach.

Sirius continued uninterrupted.

“When Dumbledore arrived, he found that the energy surge was. . .”  He threw up his hands.  “There’s no easy way to say this, Harry, but it was your parents.  Alive, kicking, and climbing out of their coffins.”

Unease turned swiftly to dread.   _Climbing out of their coffins?_

Nauseating images rose unbidden, fuelled by too many of Dudley’s horror films.  Withered hands clawing through soil, rotten robes on skeletal figures, red hair obscuring a gaunt face. . .

Some of his horror must have shown on his face, for Remus coughed pointedly and Sirius rapidly backtracked.

“Not in an  _inferi_  way!” he barked in disgust, mind no doubt plagued with similar images.

“Not in a  _zombie_  way,” Remus translated for Harry.

“Then what in Merlin’s name are you  _on_ about?” Harry demanded, frustration rising.

“ _Lily and James_ , Harry” said Sirius, in mild exasperation.  “ _Alive_.  Talking, laughing, worrying about you.”  He ran a hand through his shaggy hair.  “Drinking tea in the kitchen, playing snap!  Not a scratch on them.”

Unable to process his godfather’s seeming insanity, Harry turned to Remus for aid, only to find his old professor nodding in agreement.

His heart sank as bafflement turned to betrayal, before both surrendered to a weary acceptance.

“This is a joke, isn’t it?” Harry said heavily.

There was a sharp intake of breath, and both men looked stricken.  For an irrational second Harry felt almost guilty for not playing along.  He tried to summon some semblance of humour, or at least a pretence of not caring – a defence perfected through years of torment by Dudley – but the fact that these two men could torment him on this subject hurt too much.

Harry kept his eyes downcast, refusing to look at either man.  He felt, rather than saw, his godfather shifting closer, until a hand was slipped into his.  Reluctantly, his eyes slid upwards to meet Sirius’ earnest stare.

“Harry,  _no_.”

A second hand settled upon his knee as Remus crouched beside him and murmured emphatically.

“Your parents really are alive, Harry.”

The sentence was still foreign and impenetrable to Harry’s ears, but the reverence with which it was uttered sparked something within him.

_‘Your parents really are alive, Harry.’_

The sentence ricocheted through his mind.  Could it be true?  Magic and death certainly had an interesting relationship; Nicholas Flamel had held off death for hundreds of years with the philosopher’s stone, whilst mere months ago Voldemort had used a potion to construct himself a new body.

 _‘But neither of them had actually died’_ , his rational side countered.

Yet Harry himself had somehow survived that fateful night.  Was it so unfeasible that his parents too had endured?

_‘Your parents really are alive, Harry.’_

And there was that sentence again, the sentence he  _understood_  yet could not  _comprehend_.  But it was Remus’ voice echoing about his skull, and Remus would never say something simply because he wanted to believe it.  Remus would only say something if it were true, and  _oh, Merlin, what if it were true?_

Harry allowed himself to fully comprehend the sentence for the first time, and hope – tiny and fluttering – buzzed up and down his oesophagus.  A million furtive dreams, carefully cultivated throughout a childhood of _what-if_ s, finally found root and blossomed in his mind’s eye.  Conversations with his mother.  Flying with his father.  Lily teasing him, teaching him, embracing him.  James ruffling his hair, sharing the last chocolate frog, watching his son with pride.  Fanciful creations that had never had even a chance of coming true, but perhaps now were tinged just the tiniest shade of possible.  And Harry liked the colour; he really liked it.

And there was that hope again, still tiny, still fluttering, but nestling itself ever more securely into the warmth of Harry’s heart.  Yet it truly is a fragile thing, it truly is the thing with feathers like that poem Hermione had shown them said, because –

What would they think of him?

Harry was not the baby his parents had left behind.  He was a teenager.   _‘A damaged teenager’_ , some dark voice whispered from within.  He had already been moulded, and could not pretend to be the same boy he might have been had they raised him.  What if they wanted that other boy back, and all he could offer was himself?

And what would he think of  _them_?  Never before had it mattered how perfectly crafted his imaginings were, yet now it mattered infinitely, for what real person could compete with his childish fantasies?  What if everything he had told himself about them was wrong?  What if even  _some_ of it was?  What if Lily did not tease, and James was not proud, and they were not  _right_?

Harry did not know what maelstrom of emotions had traversed his face in the previous minutes, but Sirius and Remus were both grasping him more tightly than before, their own faces folded into twin masks of concern.

“Harry,” Remus murmured, “whatever you’re thinking,  _stop_.  Everything will be okay, I promise.”

Harry was silent for a minute, wondering how much he dared say.

Finally he said quietly, “What if they don’t like me?”

Sirius’ hand dug into Harry’s painfully, and Remus smiled sadly.

“They already love you,” he said gently.  “But they’re also going to love  _you_.  The real you; this you.”

“Just like we do,” finished Sirius.  “And you’re going to love them, just like we do.”  He flipped his hair, and his mouth curved into a slight smirk.  “Essentially,” he concluded, slapping Remus across the shoulder, “you can trust us as the arbiters of great taste.”

“They’re nervous too, you know,” Remus confided.  “We’ll take it one step at a time, to make this easier on all involved.  Everything will be okay,” he promised once more.  Harry bristled.

“How can you  _know_  that?” he demanded.  Remus merely shrugged.

“Because we’ll make it okay,” he answered simply.

Harry felt a swell of affection for the two men before him, embarrassment at his moment of vulnerability lost in the warmth of their impassioned response.  He straightened his shoulders, inhaling deeply and allowing his pulse to settle, and told himself that he could handle whatever came next.  He had faced dragons, after all.

He nodded, then nodded again: it felt good to be in control.  Then he raised his chin defiantly and locked eyes with Remus.

“What’s the first step?”

***

Lily’s first thought was that the boy in front of her truly was identical to James.  Her second was that, in truth, he did not look much like James at all.

She and her husband had been pacing their increasingly claustrophobic room for what felt like hours, ever since the wards had first announced the approach of Harry and his guard.  All involved had agreed that Harry should first be taken aside by Remus and Sirius, who would break the news to him as gently as possible.  If – and only if – Harry wanted to see them, he would then be brought to their room.  Should he decide he needed time, they would stay out of sight until he was ready, though she doubted how long they would really be able to keep themselves away.

It was Remus who had entered first, smile cautious but promising.

“He’s nervous,” he had said, “but wants to meet you.  Be gentle.”

Relief had almost taken Lily’s knees out from under her.   _Her boy wanted to meet her._

A few minutes later, her knees did buckle, and she hung heavily onot James’ shoulder, heart in her throat and blood in her ears.  Stood before them, so familiar yet so foreign, was her son.

At first glance, he and James were near doppelgangers.  They shared largely the same face – though Harry’s was slightly sharper, slightly thinner – beneath the same tangle of obsidian hair.  Harry was of a similar height and build to fifteen-year-old James, and though the eyes were her own startling green they were hidden behind glasses just like her husband’s.

Yet watching him through the eyes of a wife and mother, she could not reconcile these similarities with the blindingly obvious differences in poise and behaviour.

James had a manner of holding himself that suggested he were stretched across a chaise-longue: straight and tall, but with enough slouch, enough bend of the knee, to seem at total ease.  When moving, he did so with an assertion and confidence that made every gesture seem deliberate and correct.  When not, he would remain relatively still, only fidgeting or shifting when at his most agitated.

Harry, on the other hand, was a bundle of nervous energy.  Her attention was drawn to his hands, clenching and unclenching at his side, and his eyes, which never once stopped moving.  He seemed to be in constant evaluation of the surroundings, behaviour that – she realised with a heavy heart – meant some small part of her son was analysing his parents as potential threats.  Though his stance was self-assured and not at all timid, there was a reservation in his body language that stood in stark contrast to James’ open confidence.  ‘ _I’m not scared of you,’_ said the slight inward curl of his shoulders, _‘but I don’t trust you’_.   _‘I don’t need you to take care of me,’_ said the shuttered face, _‘I can look after myself’_.

She could not fully supress the crawling sensation under her skin that branded this stranger some sort of imposter, some unknown entity that had taken over the boy she had known in her own fifth year.

And that ‘unknown entity’ was her one-year-old son.   _Merlin help them_.

Harry walked towards them with what she suspected was false bravado.  He stopped a few feet away, as though uncertain whether he was allowed to – or possibly whether he wanted to – come any closer.

“Hi,” he said uncomfortably.

“ _Hi_ ,” she and James breathed in chorus.  They laughed, sparing a brief glance sideways at each other.  James’ face was unusually flushed, a sure sign he was as anxious as she was.  She reached down and grasped his hand: a united front.

“Hi,” she tried again, smiling what she hoped was a non-threatening smile.   _‘Be gentle’_ , Remus had said.  “It’s lovely to meet you.  You’ve grown so big.”

“It’s lovely to meet you too,” Harry responded politely.  “It’s been a long while,” he joked weakly.

Lily smiled at her son sadly.  “We’re so sorry about that, Harry,” she said, trying to infuse her voice with every ounce of her sincerity.  “Please believe me that we never wanted to leave.  If we could go back –”

Harry’s face closed off unexpectedly, and she trailed off, wondering what she had said wrong.  James squeezed her hand.

“We’re just happy to be  _here_ ,” he said.  “With  _you_.”

Harry nodded.  “Likewise.”  He cleared his throat, before saying thickly: “I’d always wondered.  You know, what it would have been like. . .”

The unspoken  _‘having parents’_  hovered between the three of them, and something broke inside Lily.  Before she could second-guess her instincts, she was moving towards Harry, heart pounding.

“It would have been like this,” she said, with far more confidence than she felt, and pulled her son into a tight embrace.

He went rigid at her touch, arms stiff at his sides, but she proceeded nonetheless, pulling his chest to hers until her arms had clasped securely behind his back.  The beat of silence that followed was long enough for her to fear she had overstepped, but eventually a hesitant arm lifted to encircle her waist.  Elated, she tucked her face into the space between his neck and shoulder, and was rewarded by his other arm rising to join the first, and his own head resting next to hers.

She inhaled deeply, her nostrils filled with the scent of him, her body moulding itself to the curves and edges of his own.  Standing like that, mother and son in tight embrace, she could almost find the strength to relinquish the past fourteen years.  She held him until he became a part of her once more, until the gaping void where her infant should be had reshaped itself around this new boy, and the feel of him  _here_ ,  _now_ , had forged for itself a new place at the centre of her heart.

It was with surprise that she realised she was stroking his hair, rocking slightly from side to side, whispering soothing words all the while.  It was with even greater surprise that she realised he was crying, face pressed tightly into the fabric of Molly’s dress.

 _“It’s okay”_ , she murmured, breath hot against the skin below his ear.   _“I’m here.”_

When he finally raised his head, his eyes had dried and he was looking at her with something akin to wonder.  She pressed her lips to the top his head, and her heart jolted at the feel of him leaning into the touch.

“Harry James Potter,” she whispered, the name like an incantation on her lips.

“Mum,” he croaked shyly.

There was a gentle cough from behind her, and both she and Harry started in surprise.  She turned to see James beaming at the two of them.

“Does your old man get a look in?” he said, voice thick with emotion.

Harry moved forwards much less hesitantly this time, still raw from his embrace with Lily, and the two clasped each other tight.  It was Lily’s turn to look on, beaming with tender pride at the tangle of black hair, crooked glasses and lanky limbs that was her two boys.

After a few minutes she slipped softly away, gently tugging open the bedroom door and passing into the hall beyond, where she was unsurprised to find Remus resting against a wall, and Sirius pacing a hole in the carpet.  Both men jerked to attention as she shut the door behind her.

“Well?” barked Sirius, eagerly.

Her delighted grin was all the answer they needed, and Sirius let out a soft whoop, punching the air with his fist.  Remus clasped a hand to her shoulder and offered an encouraging squeeze.

Blinking back a few tears, Lily squeezed his arm in return and wondered at the emotional turmoil of the past two days.  There would be more hurt ahead, of that she had no doubt.  But with their best friends safe, her husband and son reunited in the next room, and a whole host of friendly faces downstairs, she could at last breathe freely for the first time since awakening in Godric’s Hollow.

“I think it’s all going to be okay,” she confessed to Remus with a watery smile, then again to herself:  _“I think we’re all going to be okay.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review!


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